


Southern Lights

by colourwhirled



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Dark!Katara, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Zutara, F/M, Lots of plot, Political Drama, Social Commentary, aang is a precious cinnamon roll, alternate universe: pre-canon divergence, and aged up, and zutara smut, angsty!zuko, because smut, because zutara endgame hurts so good, canon events sort of happen under different circumstances, don't read if you don't like smut, everyone is a little ooc at first, minor canon pairings, plot too, slooooow burn tho, toph stays a bamf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:05:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 212,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6039316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourwhirled/pseuds/colourwhirled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A world where the Avatar has disappeared from memory. Where Sozin’s Conquest was successful. Where the unsteady order of the empire is threatened as members of the royal family are picked off one by one and lines are slowly drawn in the sand. </p><p>One last hope for peace forces an unlikely alliance between a homesick waterbender, a carefree Air Nomad, a runaway Earth Kingdom heiress, and the fire lord's inscrutable son. Together they must learn to shed old enmities and become the balance they seek to restore to the world. </p><p>OR:</p><p>The avatar has four heads. </p><p>x</p><p>[[Chapter 4: "And always, his eyes, cautiously watching her. Even when he thinks she isn’t looking. It drives her mad"]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. at first glance

**disclaimer.** ATLA  & its denominations are all intellectual property of Bryke. I am just a sad fan trying to dish out the feels.

 **author's notes.** my first attempt at a full-length zutara. a general warning that i have a horrible track record with finishing fanfics (not sure if anyone from the ccs fandom is still around here but if they were, they'd attest to that) and i'd sworn off writing them ever again but this muse drifted into my head almost fully-formed and it wouldn't leave me alone. i have most of it already mapped out and a bunch of the major plot points already written though, so fingers crossed. 

i also love reviews. or kudos. or comments. or whatever they're called these days (new to ao3 here). they keep me motivated. they keep me happy. they keep me writing. i am a giant review whore. yes. (also if you like what you read, you are welcome to follow me on tumblr, my username is the same as my penname).

shameless plugs aside, i realize this is a rather confusing first chapter, with very little outright exposition. i enjoy character-driven stories and have attempted to make that the focus, but also have quite a bit of political drama going on in the background (which will make its way to the forefront in due course). 

anyway. i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter i.** at first glance

* * *

_and it's like i'm diving into emptiness_  
_but at least there is something beating in my chest_  
-  
"cult logic"/miike snow

* * *

 

They are out in the arena practicing when she arrives.

The day is like any other, the sun hanging heavy in the sky, the air sweltering hot and bearing a promise of rain, the earth dry and cracked and scorched as the firebenders leap and duck and twist through the air in their airy red uniforms, great plumes of flame drifting in their wake.

Most of them have stripped their shirts off by now. It is mid-afternoon, the hottest part of the day, and the young men of the Special Operations Division of the Fire Empire Army are taking advantage of their break from training in the most ineffective way, or so he thinks to himself dismissively, running a hand through his thick, unkempt hair whilst perched atop one of the remaining columns bordering the arena.

Whatever goes on below him doesn’t exactly concern him, as it is mainly a reinforcement of the social order of things. He refuses to participate in such petty displays, instead choosing to figuratively (and in this case, literally) remain above it all. The general, an old friend of his father’s, has seen him grow up and has fostered his talents. He has nothing left to prove in this arena of children and sycophants, except maybe the one or two most important things of all.

The boys in the arena tussle with each other, wrestling and shoving, shooting fists and breaths of flame into the air and at each other, in a constant struggle for dominance over each other. Maybe the extra practice is good for the ones who didn’t have the luxury of growing up in noble households, but in the end, no commoner with an ounce of sense will risk besting the son of an important man in the arena. In the end, he thinks with a small measure of bitterness, there is no point. They might as well have not have fought.

He briefly contemplates the futility of it all, wondering what the point of any of it is, as he closes his eyes and lets out a sigh.

His own great-grandfather had made the world bow down before his throne, and since then, every living person under the sun has been trying to consolidate that insurmountable power. But his share of the glory will be nominal. This, his father has all but promised him, and after so many years he is still coming to reluctant terms with the fact.

He opens his eyes and glances down at the antics below him.

Chan’s been forced to the corner of the battle area by the fishmonger’s son, Ryu. It makes for a remarkable duel: the smaller, slighter warrior compensating with quicker, more powerful kicks in the air, forcing the larger bender to give up ground in an impressive display of skill. But just as Ryu catches Chan off-balance and prepares for a roundhouse kick to finish things off for good, Ruon-Jian, who had previously been idly sitting by on the sidelines, jumps in and pushes Ryu to the ground.

“Hey!” Ryu’s protest can be heard echoing through the air as he falls to the ground. “That’s not –“

Ruon-Jian’s snigger is also audible as he towers over the fallen bender.

“Not _what_ , fisher boy?”

Ryu’s indignant response is stifled in his mouth as Chan leaps back to his feet and delivers a stinging punch to the boy’s face. Ruon-Jian grins and gives him a high-five before they both turn their gazes to the crumpled boy in the dirt.

“Yeah, what were you going to say to me?” Chan joins in on the egging, lumbering slowly up to the hapless, fallen figure struggling to get to its feet. He gives an unnecessarily vicious shove. “Because I didn’t appreciate your tone of voice, _fisher boy_.”

Ryu lets out a grunt as he falls back into the earth. It’s exacerbated as Ruon-Jian’s foot connects with the pit of his bare stomach.

“I said…” he wheezes at last, as Chan draws a fist back, “…that’s not a good way to lose. _Chan_.”

Chan, his fist still drawn back in the air, exchanges an impassive glance with Ruon-Jian, and shrugs.

“Good save, fisher boy,” he says before punching Ryu in the face again.

Everyone in the vicinity has the good sense to cheer.

It is at this moment that she arrives.

He doesn’t notice at first – he’s preoccupied with noncommittally following the abashed retreat of the better bender. But the sound of a girl’s quiet voice, punctuated with the sniggers of Chan and Ruon-Jian, eventually catches his attention, and he shifts his gaze back to the far end of the arena.

He discerns a slight, dark figure dressed in blue, with a pack slung over its shoulder, standing straight-backed and impassive as the two spoiled brats tower overhead.

“ _…be sure to tell the General that you stopped by_!”

“ _Why, do you have a gift for him_?”

“ _A gift that keeps on giving?_ ”

“ _Haha, good one, Chan!_ ”

At length, the stranger replies.

“ _I was told to speak with General Shinu, if you could direct me to him, please._ ”

Her voice is flat and controlled, and though she is technically asking a question, her tone is without inflection. The two bullies bristle visibly and saunter up to her, crowding her space. She doesn’t shrink away.

“ _You don’t seem to show a lot of respect for a colonial peasant._ ”

“ _Yeah, you’re talking to two of the most important teenagers in the whole Fire Nation! You should be honoured_.” A pause. “ _I could think of a few ways you could honour us. Maybe tonight, after you’re done with the General –_ ”

Rolling his eyes, he lets out an irritable exhale before somersaulting off his column and landing neatly in the middle of the arena. Walking toward where Chan and Ruon-Jian surround the stranger, he notices the small crowd of spectators forming around them.

“What’s going on?” he demands, directing his irritation to the two spoiled sons of his father’s peers. “Don’t you two have anything better to do, besides bullying peasants and little girls?”

They glare at him mutinously, but at the same time, their faces turn red with embarrassment.

“Yeah, real threatening, the both of you. Maybe next time, I’ll actually break a sweat fighting both of you with my hands behind my back.”

They accept their dismissal and walk away, muttering thunderously and throwing acerbic glances back at him. He ignores them, instead pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slowly, and then turning around to face the new arrival.

“Thanks,” the girl – a Water tribe girl? – says to him in that same flat voice, meeting his curious gaze with the bluest eyes in the world, and to his surprise, she doesn’t flinch at the scar on his face, not once. “I’m not a little girl, though. I was told to find General Shinu when I got here, do you know where –“

“Second row to the left,” he replies automatically, pointing in the direction of the encampment, “it’s the biggest pavilion so you won’t miss it.”

She nods shortly, straightens her pack over her shoulder, and walks off in the direction he’s pointed out.

He’d heard General Shinu mention that they were recruiting a new waterbender, that there was one arriving from one of the colonial military schools who’d shown a lot of promise. Apart from that, he hadn’t known what to expect, and he certainly hadn’t expected _her_.

At any rate, it’s early evening when he is summoned to the practice arena and sees her again, this time bereft of her large pack and traveling robe. She’s dressed instead in hide leggings and an oversized blue tunic that looks like it belonged to a man twice her size, with two waterskins strapped to her hip, and her long dark hair braided away from her face.

The top five firebenders in the regiment are lined up in a row, himself included. The resident firebending master, Jeong-Jeong, oversees everything, and has explained both the test exercise and the logic behind it to her. _In battle_ , he says, _we must exercise a well-rounded strategy, else our offensive will quickly grow old and stale. Your specific role will be to counterbalance the attack of our firebenders_.

It had been his uncle’s idea, of course. Earth balances air, and water balances fire. Now that the damage to the Water Tribes was essentially done, it was high time to start integrating more waterbenders into their attack units, which already boasted a healthy representation of firebenders and earthbenders, and more than a few airbenders, whenever the Air Nomads troubled to lift themselves out of isolation.

Jeong-Jeong calls her first opponent forward. Chan swaggers forward, the smirk on his face suggesting he is all too eager to make up for his loss of face earlier in the day.

Her expression doesn’t change. Instead, she merely uncorks her skins and leans into what looks like a defensive stance.

To be honest, he’s never seen a waterbender before. He hasn’t even seen a Water Tribesman in person until today – only the grossly exaggerated illustrations in Fire Nation propaganda flyers and texts. So he resolves to watch and study her movements, all the better to anticipate and maybe learn, but the duel starts and –

Where firebending is sharp and forceful and aggressive, the waterbender’s movements are unlike anything he’s ever seen before. She checks her opponent’s strikes with a sinuous, flowing grace, bounding and leaping effortlessly as though it’s just a dance to her instead of a fight – the water moves as though it’s just another limb of hers – a dynamic, _powerful_ , exploding limb with the power to expand, contract, quench flame, and knock egotistical little firebenders off their feet and onto the flats of their rears where they belong.

There is a smattering of applause as Chan gets to his feet, rubbing his arse and shooting a vicious glare at the unperturbed waterbender, who bends her water back into her skins and assumes a neutral stance.

He’s last in line and so has the added advantage of watching her cross the remaining three benders before him. But it doesn’t take her long before she’s worked her way through the line of her opponents –

“And last but not least,” says Master Jeong-Jeong, “our best firebender, now this should be quite a show –“

Jeong-Jeong beckons to him, and he steps forward, directly across from the young waterbender. Up close, she really does look like a little girl, despite her earlier protests to the contrary, with sharp skinny features protruding from an oval face, gangling thin limbs, and eyes that seem almost too large for her face. But she wears a look of fierce determination as she faces him, and he knows that in her mind, she’s already won.

She waits for him to take the offensive, bending her water out of her skins and into a shield around her. He starts with the basic techniques his uncle taught him, breathing his fire and channeling it out through his fists, his feet, his mouth –

She counters each time, before swinging a long, heavy whip of water at him – he recognizes this attack of hers from earlier and jumps out of the way, bending a hot blast toward her that causes her to take a step backward.

Landing on both feet, he takes advantage of her unsure footing by channeling a series of wide arcs of flame at her, driving her back inch by inch – until she resists by throwing up a wall of water, drowning his fire and reaching out with a thick tendril of water to grab him by the leg and _pulling_ –

He falls, but braces his weight on his arms, jettisoning a blast of fire at her through his feet – she ducks and evades the blow, letting go of his foot – and both regain their footing, breathing slowly.

They may be fighting, but to him, it feels like a dance.

How long they continue, he doesn’t know, but at a certain point, he knows he’s no longer using basic techniques and he’s conjuring everything he knows, including some moves he made up, and he’s seen the uncertainty in her eyes, seen her jump out of the way _just_ in time, and yet both are giving it everything they have in them to give and just when it feels like they’ve been going at it for hours and his muscles are in agony and he’s breathing sharply through his mouth – he delivers what he’s sure will be the final blow as he knocks her over –

And like a rolling wave she turns his energy against him, knocking his feet out from under him and pinning him to the ground in one smooth, decisive, liquid movement.

There’s a stunned silence as they fight for breath, realizing the duel is over for now. Without a word, she releases him and he gasps for air, rolling over onto his stomach soaking wet and spread-eagled on the ground in exhaustion.

“That will be enough,” commands Jeong-Jeong, approaching the young waterbender. There is an expression of fierce admiration on the master’s hard, scarred face. “What I have seen of your abilities pleases me. Not that I would doubt Pakku’s word, oh no…”

She presses her fist into the heel of her hand and dips shortly, giving a picture-perfect Fire Nation bow.

“…and yet, parts of his letter were incredibly difficult to believe! Especially – how long did it take you to master waterbending again?”

The girl shrugs.

“Six months,” she says impassively.

“Unheard of! A true prodigy, to be sure!”

“Yeah right,” Chan whispers, next to him, as Jeong-Jeong continues to talk with the Water tribe girl. “There’s _no way_ that peasant mastered waterbending in six months.”

“Maybe she mastered Pakku in six months instead,” Ruon-Jian retorts with a snicker. “And he bumped her up a grade.”

“Chan, Ruon-Jian,” he says wearily, stretching his screaming muscles and wiping sweat out of his face, “you’re mediocre benders at best, so you should at least try a _bit_ harder to be clever.”

They glare at him but know better than to talk back, so they walk away slowly.

Jeong-Jeong’s already left by the time the two of them approach the young waterbender. She’s in the middle of stretching her right leg when Ruon-Jian deliberately and forcefully shoves her as he walks by. She teeters but regains balance quickly enough.

“Can I help you?” she asks. Her face and voice are still, somehow, incredibly, without emotion.

“The water tribe _peasant_ girl just asked if she could help us!” Ruon-Jian crows at Chan. “Who does this – this _pole girl_ think she is and just where does she get off thinking so highly of herself?”

“Yeah, who do you think you are, _pole girl_?”

He winces. _Pole girl? Is that really the best they could think up?_

“Katara.”

Her quiet, solemn answer catches everyone off guard.

“What was that?” Chan asked, trying to sound threatening but only appearing confused.

“My name is Katara,” the girl replies, before resuming her stretches.

Another confused silence ensues.

"Well…we didn’t want to know your name!” Ruon-Jian protests hotly.

“Yeah, we just were going to say that next time, we won’t go easy on you.”

He knows he’s eavesdropping on this conversation but he can’t mask the loud snort that slips out of his mouth.

“That’s okay,” the girl – _Katara_ – says evenly, now stretching her left leg. “Neither will I.”

The indignation on both their faces rises, but it just makes them look constipated and ridiculous.

“Watch your back, _peasant_ ,” mutters Ruon-Jian viciously, before he and Chan loftily stalk off, presumably toward their barracks.

The girl shakes her head slightly before resuming her stretches, this time of her arms and shoulders.

He glances around. The sun has sunk below the horizon by now, they’d dueled right into the sunset, and now the sky glows with bands of lavender and orange and pale blue. The arena is deserted, now everyone is probably tidying their bunks or quickly showering off the day’s sweat and dust.

No point dawdling. He gets to his feet and slowly crosses the arena, wondering if he should say anything to the girl, who seems more than a little taciturn. He can’t help but admire her spirit, though. Maybe a little test of the waters…

“Thanks for the shower,” he tries to joke, running a hand through his hair.

She freezes, turns her head to regard him curiously, probably sizing him up to figure out whether he’s making fun of her or not.

“I was trying to make a joke,” he points out, a little crestfallen now. He eases up. “Uh…I guess I meant to say that you gave me a really hard time back there.”

“I was just doing my job,” replies the girl a little defensively, straightening out of her stretches and meeting his eyes directly.

“I know. I mean, that’s good. You’re a really good fighter, I was trying to give you a compliment.”

Talking with her is like treading barefoot on broken glass, apparently.

“Um…thanks…” she says slowly. “You gave me a tough time too, I guess.”

“Thank you. I’ve never fought against a waterbender before.”

“I guess I had an advantage, then,” the girl replies. She raises her hands in front of her and before he realizes it, she’s bending the water off him and back into her waterskins.

“Thanks,” he says again.

“I didn’t want to waste it,” she answers, corking them. She looks up at him. “Well, I’d better get back to my barracks, so if you don’t mind –”

“I can walk you there,” he offers.

“No, that’s fine, you don’t have to –”

“I’m walking that way too, everyone’s stationed there. Please.”

They stare at each other, before she finally shrugs and walks on. He falls in step with her easily.

“So, you’ve fought against firebenders before, you mean?” he asks, trying to get a conversation going. Maybe if she realized that not everyone here was going to be like Chan and Ruon-Jian…

She nods shortly.

“In _combat_?” he continues incredulously. Even if she isn’t as young as she looks, there’s no way she would have been old enough to fight during the polar invasions –

“No,” she answers, somewhat bitterly. “Not exactly.”

“Oh,” is all he can say, and suddenly recognizing that he may have inadvertently raised a sensitive subject, he changes his line of questioning. “It must feel strange for you to be here.”

There’s a fleeting hint of surprise on her face following his words, before she quickly masks it.

“Yeah. Strange.”

“So why _are_ you here, then?” he asks, curiously.

She shrugs.

“There wasn’t much of a choice. Master Pakku trained me until I was ready, and then I was ordered to come here, so I did.”

“And before Pakku?”

She closes up instantly, an ill-concealed darkness evident in her eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” she says in a low voice.

“I’m sorry,” he offers tentatively.

She shrugs, but her arms are crossed in front of her as though they’re armour.

They’ve entered the encampment and he can smell the food cooking in the mess hall. It’s very close to dinnertime. His stomach rumbles in response. In front of them are three parallel rows of tents, mostly small but one or two are extravagantly large and bearing the large flag of the Fire Empire army, as well as smaller divisional insignia. Beside the encampment are the barracks, a large gated compound of brick and steel with a sloped red roof and small slitted windows.

There’s a troubled expression on her face, the closer they get to the building. At first he thinks it’s in his imagination but there’s no mistaking the disquiet in her eyes. He wonders what it could be, and scans his mind for reasons, for a shred of empathy. Of course, the circumstances under which he joined the army were completely different – he had been driven and motivated and ready to prove himself, and to this day he still felt mostly the same way, if only a little more disillusioned – but still, what could be troubling the young waterbender so?

“Don’t worry,” he tries to reassure her, “everyone fits in eventually. Chan and Ruon-Jian are losers and nobody likes them anyway. You don’t have to worry about them picking on you –“

She startles and gives him a confused look.

“I’m fine,” she insists, sounding a little annoyed. “Really.”

“Okay.” He backs off.

They reach the gates of the compound.

“By the way,” he says, “Katara – was it?”

She glances at him and nods uncertainly.

He holds out a hand.

“I don’t think I introduced myself. My name is Zuko.”

There’s a pause following his words.

“Zuko,” Katara repeats, the syllables sounding lovely rolling off her tongue. Her brow furrows. She doesn’t return his handshake, but glances up at his face again. She looks as though she is thinking hard, putting unexpected pieces together. She takes in the symmetrical planes of his face, the shock of untamed black hair, the ugly, disfiguring scar around his eye, before she meets his gaze piercingly.

“Son of _Ozai_ ,” she finishes, and now the words sound like an accusation – and a curse.

The bottom of his stomach drops out from under him. Or so it feels.

“And Ursa,” he recovers, his mouth dry.

Now she glares at him with all the fury she can muster, and he finds himself quailing under the might of it.

“I can find my own way from here,” she says, her voice like ice. “Thanks for showing me around. But do me a favour, and _stay away from me_.”

She spins on her heel and marches into the building, without sparing him a second glance.

Zuko is left standing, bewildered.

_What did I do wrong this time?_

* * *

 


	2. letters in her head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara recounts her first day at camp.

**disclaimer.** ATLA may belong to Bryke, but Zutara belongs to us, the fans.

**author's notes.** thank you lovely folks for the kudos and comments! keep them coming, i love the encouragement! 

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter ii.** letters in her head

* * *

_for a home to love the weary heart_  
_in soft embrace i now arise_  
_and search for peace in hungering eyes_  
_thy faces change; my love renames_  
_our starlit world, the past remains_  
-  
"vervain"/faith  & the muse

* * *

She glides effortlessly along the banks of the river, bending the currents so that they propel her forward. The day is hot, as the weather in the Fire Nation is wont to be, but in the lap of the waves, surrounded by cool, flowing water, she doesn’t feel it as much.

The bone flute is almost too small in her hands, but her fingers are dainty and move with a well-practiced precision as she lifts it to her lips and trills a song her mother used to sing while working. Hearing the familiar tune swell to a crescendo and echo over the water and the surrounding mountains, she feels comforted almost. This is as close to free as she has ever felt.

No matter that she’s being sent to yet another prison. For the past six weeks, she has been traveling alone, surrounded by her element, with everything she owns stuffed into the pack on her back, and playing the flute her father had carved for her. She intends to savour it, for as long as it lasts.

It’s lucky that the bulk of her travel has been riverside. She can’t imagine walking in this heat. Even though she’s been away from home for so many years, she still misses the cold and the dark. She misses the feel of sealskins and fur pelts against her skin. But she’s long since stripped her weathered blue robe of its trimmings and linings. Now it’s just a limp oversized coat of hide, frayed at the seams and hems. It’s not very good at keeping the heat out, but somehow, she can’t bring herself to throw it away. It’s a memory of home, one of the few she has left.

She sees the encampment in the distance. It’s further inland than she thought. She’ll have to double back and approach it by foot.

It’s just as well. In her experience, the less she demonstrates her abilities, the better her reception among the Fire Nation people is. Not that she cares, one way or another. She knows how to take care of herself. By now, most things have lost their ability to hurt.

The clouds loom overhead, plump and threatening to spill, but as usual, offering naught but empty promises. Katara knows better, and besides, what could be more welcome to a waterbender in a strange land but more rain?

With a sigh, she lands on the riverbank and dries herself off. She reaches into her pack, puts the flute inside a worn sealskin sachet, and withdraws the map of her intended route. Her journey inland should not take too long by foot, even in this accursed heat. Though the abundant forest blocks her view, she can see smoke rising from the buildings of the encampment, and thus, with one last rueful glance at the shining, dancing waters and open sky, she turns and makes for the winding path leading into the forest.

She wonders what Sokka would think, if he ever found out. She wonders how she would tell him.

_Dear Sokka,_

_A lot’s changed since I last wrote. I found a waterbending Master who was willing to teach me – well, that took a bit of effort, since he’s from the Northern Tribe. But, he came around in the end. His name is Pakku and he was a real grouch at first, but I guess he grows on you after a while._

She smiles, mentally composing her letter as she walks.

_Anyway. He said I was the best of his students, even though the others were all boys, and I got to kick their butts every day for six months. Which was fun._

_Then Master Pakku said that I’d mastered waterbending, and after that he sent me away to join some division of the Fire Empire Army. Which was less fun?_

Katara lets out a sigh. At the time, she’d secretly hoped that as a female, she would go unnoticed and be able to stay on with Pakku, perhaps helping him train new waterbenders when they were sent to him. But _no_ , Master Pakku had other ideas for his young protégé.

“You are still young and have much left to learn,” he’d said, to silence her protests at his verdict. “But you have a knack for adaptability, which above all else, is the foundation of waterbending, and what they are looking for in a suitable candidate. Besides, for all that this Division is part of the Fire Empire army, you will be part of a special unit, directly under the supervision of some very old friends of mine. I have no doubt that you will thrive there.”

Katara had snorted at that, but had eventually caved to Pakku’s decision.

_But in the end, I had to obey my orders. If they’re sending me into a pit of firebenders to fight their wars and die for a country that’s wrought so much damage upon the world, then that’s what I have to do. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be._

And then there are some things that never stop hurting. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, her strategy over the years to dispel the ghost of tears.

_Master Pakku vouches for some of them. I think it’s because he’s not from the Southern Water Tribe like us. Maybe he just doesn’t know what they’re capable of._

Katara frowns, kicking at a pebble on the pathway before her.

_No, maybe that’s not fair either. The ones who were at the bending camp with him weren’t awful. They weren’t particularly nice but they weren’t like, well…you know._

One foot in front of another, now. She chews at a cracked lip, lost in her thoughts.

_I’m really nervous, Sokka. Master Pakku told me to think of this as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but I can’t stop thinking of it as a death sentence. I’m already so far away from everything I know. Now I have to stay in the heart of the Empire, with the same people who destroyed our home. The thought of it makes me sick._

_I thought about running away. I met a lady on my way here who –_

No. Katara doesn’t want to think about that. It makes her stomach turn even more. She’ll take the firebenders over that.

Drawing courage from that thought, she squares her shoulders, walks the last few steps out of the forest, and into the camp.

The area in front of her is cleared out and paved, some sort of practice arena. It’s flat and rectangular, surrounded by stone columns in varying states of disrepair. The place is full of shirtless guys laughing and throwing fire at each other.

She doesn’t bat an eye. After all, she had been the only student in Pakku’s class who was a girl. She’s seen her fair share of shirtless, sweaty guys, enough to not get worked up in a pretty young blush when two of them notice her and march up to her.

They both seem like spoiled, entitled idiots, and when they open their mouths, they don’t do much to dispel her initial suspicions.

“Hey Chan, look at this!” one of them calls. He’s got a pointy face and hair that falls all over his face in some weird Fire Nation style that passes for trendy these days. She wonders how he can see her at all.

The other boy is taller, with well-muscled arms, smooth handsome features, and brown hair tied up in a topknot. She probably isn’t going to like him much, either.

“Well, _you’re_ a tall drink of water,” he says with a wink and a smirk. “What can I do for you, sugarcakes?”

Yup. She definitely doesn’t like him already.

“Good afternoon,” she says, keeping her face devoid of expression and her voice toneless, lest her distaste bleed through and offend someone. She recalls the instructions Pakku had given her and recites them off the top of her hand. “I’m to report with General Shinu. Do either of you know where he is?”

Apparently, her indifference is cause for offence in and of itself. The two boys eye each other, and some form of unspoken communication is exchanged.

“Oh, you’re looking for the _General_?” the handsome one asks. Chan, she’d gathered was his name.

“I believe I said that, yes.” A hint of impatience makes it into Katara’s voice, and from the way they snigger in response, she gathers they’ve heard it too.

“I don’t know. What would the _General_ want with colony _trash_ like her, Ruon-Jian?”

The one with the ridiculous hair shrugs suggestively.

“Well. There might be a reason. After all, this one’s _pretty_ for a colonial. If you know what I mean.”

Katara has weathered Pakku’s rages and much, much worse. These two boys with giant spaces where their brains should be are just a momentary nuisance. She remains impassive.

“Pretty. Ri-ight…” Chan trails off, and she intercepts his stare as he gives her a lingering once-over. He smirks again. “Sorry, sugar. Old Shinu’s a little busy right now. But we’ll be sure to tell the General that you stopped by!”

Maybe she looks a little crestfallen, because suddenly the two of them are crowding her space, looking for her to give an inch. She doesn’t cave.

“Why?” Ruon-Jian asks slyly, with a leer, “do you have a _gift_ for him?”

She thinks that she would very much like to give _him_ a gift in the form of a kick between the legs.

“Yeah, like…a gift that keeps on giving?” Chan continues.

“Haha, good one, Chan!” Ruon-Jian laughs. They high-five each other and snigger.

_But it’s pointless, Sokka. I don’t fit in here and I never will. Firebenders are jerks. And even if I ran, where am I supposed to go? How am I going to find you?_

Katara takes another deep breath, and when she speaks, her voice is just as steady as she wants it to be. 

“I was told to speak with General Shinu, if you could direct me to him, please.”

She says it the way Master Pakku would have said it to a firebender that he didn’t particularly like, but still outranked.

Both boys don’t take well to this either, as they bristle visibly. Their body language becomes more aggressive, and yet, Katara cannot feel less afraid.

“You don’t seem to show a lot of respect for a colonial peasant,” Ruon-Jian warns her.

“Yeah, you’re talking to two of the most important teenagers in the whole Fire Nation! You should be _honoured_.” Chan pauses, before a sly grin crosses his face. She catches him looking at her again. “I could think of a few ways you could honour us.” He reaches for her. “Maybe tonight, after you’re done with the General –”

“ _What’s going on_?” Another voice, alien to her ears, cuts across Chan’s words.

Katara looks up, expecting the low, gravelly voice to belong to an irritated senior officer or someone much older. Instead, it’s another one of the shirtless firebenders, and he looks just as amused by the situation as she does.

She opens her mouth to explain, expecting to bear the brunt of this surly stranger's ire. Instead, to her surprise, he whirls on the pair standing in front of her.

“Don’t you two have anything better to do, besides bullying peasants and little girls?” he asks witheringly.

Katara raises her eyebrows fractionally. She’s not a little girl!

Her surprise mounts as the two meatheads glare at the newcomer, but hold their tongues nonetheless.

Does he outrank them or something? He doesn’t look that much older than them. She wonders if her first guess about him being a senior officer wasn’t wrong. Even if he doesn't look that much older than her.

“Yeah, real threatening, the both of you,” the stranger continues sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Maybe next time, I’ll actually break a sweat fighting both of you with my hands behind my back.”

Chan and Ruon-Jian look _thoroughly_ chastened now. They don’t say a word again, they just…back off slowly, throwing dark looks at the surly firebender and muttering amongst themselves.

Katara certainly doesn’t mind seeing the back of them.

She turns her gaze instead to the surly one, who seems, if not very friendly, at least a _bit_ more helpful than his peers.

“Thanks,” she says briskly, and he meets her eyes with strange gold ones, the left one smaller than the other because of the angry red scar surrounding it. “I’m not a little girl though.” Because she _isn’t_ , and hasn’t been for a very long time. “I was told to find General Shinu when I got here, do you know where –“

He cuts her off before she can finish, anticipating her question and pointing to the pavilions beyond the arena.

“Second row to the left,” he says in that peculiar rough voice, “it’s the biggest pavilion so you won’t miss it.”

Efficiency is the one trait she doesn’t mind in a firebender, so she nods her thanks. Then, she straightens her pack, which has been sliding off her shoulder, and walks in the direction of the General’s pavilion.

She attracts a few curious stares as she walks through the encampment, but no one approaches her, and she checks in with the General without incident.

Shinu is a large-set, stocky man with sharply trimmed whiskers, shrewd brown eyes, and hair closely gathered in a military topknot. She bows to him to indicate her respect – as a General, he is one of the highest-ranking officials she’s encountered so far. She expects anything from derision to indifference. But to her surprise, the General is brisk and efficient, and not impolite with her as he informs her of her duties, which in and of themselves surprise her.

“You want me to… _train_ waterbenders,” she repeats slowly, trying to fathom it all.

“It is imperative that we incorporate an attack strategy that includes the waterbending form,” General Shinu explains. “As our resident Master waterbender, you will contribute heavily to this endeavour. You will be expected to participate in our military strategy meetings, along with the other bending masters in the Division, as well as develop attack techniques and drill our new recruits in them.”

Katara swallows slowly, realizing that it’s happening, everything she’s tried so hard to avoid. The Fire Nation has found out about her abilities and now they’re making a weapon of them.

“Military strategy,” she repeats. “For what? There’s no fighting going on.”

Shinu glances at her levelly but remains calm.

“Your orders are not for you to question, Sifu Katara,” he says gruffly. “You came highly recommended. We expect great things of you. Know that your actions defend this great empire and everything within her borders.”

_Including your tribes_ , is what he doesn’t say, but she gets the hint nonetheless.

“My apologies,” Katara says with another bow. “I didn’t wish to give offense.”

“None was taken.” Shinu rises to his feet. “Take some time to become familiar with our camp.” He glances at her frayed, dusty traveling robe and frowns. “And you will need your uniform. You can’t go around wearing _that_.”

Katara fights to keep the scorn from her voice. “Of course not.”

“Not in this weather, anyway.” Katara blinks, expecting a much more contemptuous response, but Shinu continues on. “Go to the pavilion next door and ask for Ming. She will help you orient yourself. Afterward, you will present yourself at the practice arena at sundown, for a test exercise so that we can evaluate your skills. Dismissed.”

Katara thanks him, bows, and leaves.

In the next tent, she finds Ming, a tall, strongly-built woman with a surprisingly kind face.

“ _You’re_ the new waterbender?” Ming asks incredulously after Katara introduces herself. She straightens her headband and squints as Katara nods.

“Sorry,” the soldier apologizes, offering a furtive smile. “I – I just was under the impression that the tribes only trained their men to be fighting benders.”

Katara lets out a sigh, remembering Pakku’s reticence with her. That hadn’t even been a year ago. How time had flown by.

“It’s like that in the Northern tribe,” she explains. “But I’m not from there and – well, there aren’t very many of us left, so it’s no time to be picky.”

Ming nods sympathetically.

“Of course,” she says, and turns around to rummage through the shelves behind her. She pulls out a few cloth packs, but frowns at them.

“Unfortunately,” she says apologetically, turning around to face Katara with a slightly bashful expression on her face, “ _because_ we thought all the waterbenders were men, we only have waterbender uniforms in men’s sizes. I found the smallest size that I could, but it’ll probably still be big for you –“

“That’s fine,” Katara says automatically, reaching for the pack in Ming’s hand. “I’ll take it anyway, I don’t really care if it looks ridiculous.”

“Sorry,” Ming smiles ruefully. “On the bright side, we do have a smith here so you can get your armour fitted properly.”

Katara nods. _Armour._

Ming takes her around the site, pointing out important places that she should know about. The entire division is relatively small, and Katara learns that it’s for a very select, skilled group of fighters trained for special operations.

“You’ll be doing your training here.” Ming points out a pathway leading away from the encampment, and toward a small, round, glassy lake. Katara’s eyes widen.

“Well that’s comfortable,” she remarks.

_Maybe this won’t be so bad, Sokka. After all, I do get to practice bending all day, and train other waterbenders too. Perhaps I’ll even find someone to come along with me to the North Pole._

“Well, this is it,” Ming says, after leading her through the barracks and stopping in front of a door. “You’re paired up with another of the bending Masters on site. She’s a bit of a character, but I’m sure you two will get along fine, plus you still get a bit more privacy than the general soldiers!”

Katara bows and thanks her for her help, before entering the room and taking stock of her new…she still can’t bring herself to call it _home_.

It’s bigger than she expected, she thinks as she closes the door behind her and steps into the middle of the room. It’s all stone and tile, which is just as well as this is a camp with a high concentration of firebenders, but it’s open and warm, with a bunk bed in one corner, two chests (one of which is open and has things flying everywhere in complete chaos, as though its owner is blind), and two closets on separate ends of the room. There’s another door, which, Katara discovers, leads to a private washroom, complete with an enclosure for bathing, and a steam room.

To her, it’s luxury.

She’s imminently grateful that she doesn’t have to stay in the general barracks. Not that she hasn’t stayed in a communal dorm before, but she’s incredibly glad for the increased privacy.

She trudges over to the unoccupied side of the room, opens the empty chest, and sets down her personal pack with a sigh. She empties its meagre contents on the ground in front of her: two front-clasped blue shirts, three loose-fitting trousers, softskin leggings, a long blue vest, rolls and rolls of bindings and underclothes, a single long dress in the style of her tribe, two corked waterskins, a bag of soaps and oils, and the worn sealskin sachet at the bottom of her pack.

She opens it and glances inside sadly. Memories of home. Small ones. Her father’s flute. Her grandmother’s comb. Her mother’s necklace. Her brother’s favourite boomerang that he’d accidentally left behind, buried in the snow, the day he went away…

Tears are swimming in her eyes as she presses the sachet to her cheek and breathes.

_Sokka, I miss them. I miss them so much. If there was anything, any way I could –_

But that is a useless train of thought. What’s done is done, and now even Sokka is gone and she is here, by herself. But she carries bits of their legacies with her, and in her, and she will not fail them. She will not forget them.

Setting her mouth in a straight line, she pulls at the drawstrings of the sachet and places it at the bottom of her chest, then piling her pitiful few belongings on top of it. The last waterbender of the southern tribe, and all she has to her name are some borrowed clothes and trinkets.

Fingers moving methodically, she opens the new pack and withdraws the folded clothes from inside.

The kit is quite generous, and she wonders if this is standard issue or if being a Master bender has some perks. She withdraws three sets of plain workwear: soft blue cotton with the wavy emblem of the Water Tribes sewn on the front in white thread, and a small red Fire Empire flame embroidered in bright red on the back. They’ve also given her nicer sets of a higher-quality weave, perhaps to wear while drilling the others. And two formal sets in red and gold, one of silk and the other of velvet, to wear when meeting with the Generals perhaps.

She runs her fingers along the plain blue cotton set absently. At least they’ve given her something that isn’t red. She’s sick of having to wear red all the time. And even if it isn’t the linen and fur that she remembers, wearing the water tribe emblem makes her feel a little better.

Stripping off her clothes, dusty and sweaty from traveling, she reaches for a new set of underclothes and bindings. The freedom to be able to change and not be seen and gawked at, now _that_ is something she welcomes whole-heartedly.

She picks up one of the plain sets they’ve given her, and a wry smile tugs at her lips. Water Tribe men are built tall and strong. She isn’t exactly petite, but there is no way those trousers are going to fit her. Perhaps she’ll need a tailored set after all.

With a sigh, she reaches for a pair of softskin leggings from her chest and pulls them on over her hips. She then picks up the undershirt of soft cotton and holds it against her body. The shirt hits her just under the knee, while the sleeves skim the crook of her elbow. It is about four times wider than her.

But clothes are clothes, and these are soft, comfortable, _and_ modest, unlike the usual cut of Fire Nation garb she’s been forced to wear. So, without much complaint, she pulls the undershirt over her head and struggles to find the holes for her arms to go through.

At that moment, to her alarm, the door to her room opens.

“ _I’m changing_!” she shrieks, panicking and pulling the hem of the shirt _down_ as far as it will go.

Someone steps into the room behind her and closes the door.

“Yeah, I know,” replies a girl’s unconcerned voice. “Don’t worry about it.”

_Don’t worry about it?_

Indignation rises to Katara’s voice as she realizes she’s put the shirt on backwards, and struggles to right it.

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” she demands crossly.

“Doesn’t really make a difference to me, to be honest.”

Katara whirls around.

“You could have seen –“ she begins, shakes her head, and starts over, all while struggling to fit her arms through the sleeves, “You startled me. I – I don’t like people watching me change.”

“I told you, you really don’t have to worry about that,” the new girl repeats, and there’s a bite of sarcasm in her voice.

Katara finally manages to get her arms in through the right sleeves, and raises her eyes.

There’s a girl of about fifteen, wearing formal red silk robes similar to the ones Katara had received, except they’re embroidered with a tiny symbol of the former Earth Kingdom in emerald green. Her arms are muscled and she moves with purpose. Her dark hair is swept up in a large bun and held in place by a gold headband. Long black bangs cover her eyes, which when Katara looks closer, are bright green and clouded over.

Is she – _blind_?

“Oh,” she says, suddenly realizing the implications of the girl’s words and lowering her head bashfully. “Sorry. I didn’t realize –“

A _blind_ earthbender? She’d never heard of such a thing.

“Don’t worry about it. I get that all the time,” the girl says with a shrug. “Name’s Toph. I guess you’re the Master waterbender everyone’s been waiting for.”

Katara’s jaw drops as she remembers Ming’s earlier words and finally makes the connection.

“You’ll have to take the top bunk. I’m not very good with heights so you don’t have much of a choice there –“ Toph prattles on, blithely unaware of Katara’s mounting astonishment.

“Wait, _you’re_ the bending master they told me about?” she bursts out in disbelief. Since the girl’s wearing the symbol of the former Earth Kingdom, she continues with the only logical conclusion: “The earthbending master?”

A small grin breaks out onto Toph’s face.

“Yup.”

“But – but _how_?” Realizing that she’s being incredibly rude, she attempts to recover. “I mean, that’s _incredible_ , but –“

“It’s okay. Like I said, I get that reaction all the time. No one ever believes me…until I make them eat dirt.” The grin on Toph’s face is mischievously wide now, and Katara gets a feeling that she enjoys proving herself to skeptics a little too much.

“I’ll be sure to watch my step,” she says uncertainly, wondering if she’ll ever have to cross her in battle.

“Oh, you’d better. I can’t wait for cross-training now. It’ll be so much more fun with everyone there.” Toph claps her hands together triumphantly.

“Cross-training?”

“Yup. Everyone’s least favourite thing. Except mine.”

_How very strange_.

“What’s your least favourite thing?” Katara asks curiously.

“ _War meetings_.” Toph makes a face as she walks over to her closet and opens it, reaching for a plain set of green cotton without hesitation. “I just back from one. _Blegh_. Not my thing.”

Katara raises her eyebrows.

“What are they like?” she inquires curiously.

“ _Boring._ ” Toph emphasizes her point by tearing off her fancy red silks unabashedly, standing only in her shift and breeches. She jams her hands on her hips, and continues. “It’s just a bunch of old gasbags yammering on over lines and arrows on maps. I don’t even know why they _want_ me there. What the heck am _I_ supposed to contribute?”

She shakes her head while promptly redressing herself. Katara can only marvel as she effortlessly pulls her trousers up, slides on her undershirt and sleeveless overtunic, and then ties the sash at her waist firmly.

Her feet stay bare.

“That does seem a little inconsiderate of them,” Katara comments eventually, feeling unusually small.

“Yeah well.” Toph shrugs, and casts her sightless eyes on Katara’s face. “Do you have a schedule yet?”

Katara shakes her head, before realizing that the girl can’t see it.

“The general told me I had a test exercise tonight at sundown,” she says. “Apart from that…no.”

“Shame,” Toph says. “I have to go drill the yellow-bellied excuses for earthbenders they recruited for me. Wait until you meet yours. You’ll want to spend all day cross-training too.” She pauses. “I’ve got to run. Find me after your test exercise is done. If you’re half as good as you say they are, you’ll be done in no time.”

Katara nods, before remembering that the girl can’t see it.

“Thanks,” she says. “Where will you be?”

“Probably in here. The steam room is _really_ handy after practice. Man, am I glad we get one. Anyway, you’ll need me to show you the ropes around here, Sweetness.”

Katara winces a little. “Sweetness?” she echoes, wondering if she’s hearing correctly.

“I like it,” Toph decides. She turns and walks away, waving a goodbye at Katara, while somehow still miraculously knowing where she and everything around her is.

“You forgot to put on your shoes,” Katara calls after her helplessly.

The earthbender makes a dismissive gesture with her hands.

“How the hell am I supposed to see with shoes on?” she counters before she’s out the door and striding purposefully down the hallway.

Katara remains very confused, but decides not to press the subject unduly.

_My new roommate is a blind earthbending master. She reminds me a bit of you. She’s brash and outspoken and I don’t quite get her jokes yet._

At sunset she fills her skins and heads over to the arena. There, she finds a slight old man cloaked in red, with a severe face. Oddly enough, he reminds her of Master Pakku.

“You are the waterbender?” the old man inquires, his eyes squinting at her.

She bows to him in response.

“My name is Katara,” she introduces herself uncertainly.

“Welcome, Katara,” he replies courteously, and dips his head in return. “I am Master Jeong-Jeong. Formally, I oversee the firebenders in this division, but I will have a hand in your training as well.”

He gives her a curious once-over.

“It may be strange news to you that I am old friends with your former master, Pakku,” he continues, the set of his mouth becoming less harsh. “When he answered my summons with word of you, I was most intrigued by his claims.”

“Oh?” Katara eyes the old man appraisingly, wondering if she can trust a character reference from Pakku.

“The needs of this division are very specific. This test exercise is meant to assess whether you can meet them. But if you are truly as skilled as Pakku has said, then you needn’t worry.”

Katara sees a small group of firebenders assembling on the arena, in a lineup across from her. She recognizes the two bullies from this afternoon, who by now have regained their arrogant swagger, as well as the taciturn one with the scar.

“I still don’t know what you’re looking for,” Katara says carefully.

“It is enough that you be creative and resourceful and able to draw knowledge from multiple sources, wherever you find it,” Jeong-Jeong says, somewhat vaguely. He raises his voice, so that everyone in the vicinity can hear him, and his benders straighten to attention. “In battle, we must exercise a well-rounded strategy, else our offensive will quickly grow old and stale.” He turns to addresses her directly. “Your _specific_ role will be to counterbalance the attack of our firebenders.”

* * *

  _Yes, Sokka. The Fire Empire Army…hired me to kick firebender butt._

_So I did._

_With pleasure_.

* * *

 The first four go down with barely a fight - it’s hardly an effort for her. The scarred one, the last one to face her, is the only one who gives her a decent fight. It is clear to her that he has never faced anything like her style of bending before, but his own skills far outclass any of the others she’s fought, and he manages to adapt to her quickly enough to make for an entertaining skirmish. When, at long last, she’s finally had enough of the duel and pins him down, it takes her a lot more effort than she initially would have thought, and she finds herself breathing heavily and covered with sweat.

“That will be enough,” Jeong-Jeong commands at length, and in spite of herself, Katara is pleased to see the admiration spreading across the firebending master’s face. “What I have seen of your abilities pleases me. Not that I would doubt Pakku’s word, oh no –“

Katara bows to him in acknowledgment of his praise.

“- and yet, parts of his letter were incredibly difficult to believe!” Jeong-Jeong continues on. “Especially – how long did it take you to master waterbending again?”

“Six months?” she answers with a shrug.

From an outsider’s perspective, she does suppose it sounds a little far-fetched.

“Unheard of!” Jeong-Jeong declares, his eyebrows disappearing into the strands of white hair that fall across his forehead. “A true prodigy, to be sure! Such discipline and raw talent will make an excellent addition to our –“ he pauses delicately, “project.”

“Project?” Katara frowns. “Does this have something to do with –“ she searches her mind for the exact phrasing General Shinu had used, “- _attack_ development?”

Jeong-Jeong rewards her with a small smile.

“It has _everything_ to do with that,” he tells her. “You will report back here at midmorning tomorrow for your first cross-elemental training session.”

She bows and he takes his leave.

_It’s so weird, you wouldn’t believe it. I would never have imagined that a high-ranking military firebender would ever respect my skills, but it almost felt like talking to Master Pakku again. I don’t know, Sokka, every time I think I have these people figured out, they have to go and make me question everything._

Someone walks right into her and she almost loses her balance. Taking a deep breath to maintain her calm, she turns around to find the two arrogant benders from earlier today: the handsome one and the one with the ridiculous hair. She’s forgotten their names already.

_And then there are the idiots. Boy, I can’t imagine what you would say if they treated you the way they treat me. Sometimes, I wish you were the bender. Not me._

Soon enough, the two of them leave her alone to her stretches and her thoughts. She wonders at their nerve. It’d taken her under a minute combined to floor both of them, yet still they walked around as if they owned her. It would have infuriated her if she didn’t already know any better.

But she does. And one day, very soon, she will teach the sons of fire to fear water.

“Thanks for the shower.”

The stony voice cuts through her thoughts and she freezes, before casting a curious look at the speaker. It’s the scarred bender, and he’s standing a fair distance away, as though unsure of her.

What does he want with her, and why is he talking to her?

“I was trying to make a joke,” he continues, and Katara is startled to hear a tinge of petulance in his voice. “Uh…I guess I meant to say that you gave me a really hard time back there.”

Oh great. Another sore loser.

“I was just doing my job,” she retorts, not trying very hard to mask her impatience.

“I know. I mean, that’s good.” She watches him swallow, and wrestle with his thoughts for a bit, before he adds, “You’re a really good fighter, I was trying to give you a compliment.”

_Now_ she is confused. To be honest, she prefers the firebenders when they are efficient and leave her alone. She’d pegged him as the surly type earlier, and she wonders why he now, all of a sudden, feels the urge to pretend to be friendly with her.

Nonetheless, there’s no need for her to be rude, so she fights a shrug and searches for words of her own.

“Um…thanks…” she trails off, casting about for something to say. After all, he’d helped her out in the afternoon when he didn’t have to, and he had held his own surprisingly well against her. “You gave me a tough time too, I guess.”

She supposes she can respect that.

He inclines his head. “Thank you. I’ve never fought against a waterbender before.”

She knows that already. She wants to tell him that it had been obvious from the way he fought against her, but she neither knows him nor particularly wants to, so she settles for a noncommittal “I guess I had an advantage, then” instead.

Then she notices that he is still dripping wet from their duel and frowns inwardly. At this time of year, Fire Nation weather is scorching hot and humid, summer on the precipice of monsoons. While she is perfectly capable of pulling water out of thin air if need be, she hates to see it go to waste on a firebender, of all people. She raises her hands and the water returns to her skins.

He thanks her, as though he thinks she’s doing him a favour.

She tells him she’s just trying to conserve her water, and then tries to make an escape back to her room, because Toph is probably waiting for her and all she wants right now is to be around someone who _isn’t_ bloody Fire Nation.

But alas, the most overly-polite firebender in the bloody empire is standing before her and before she knows it, he’s walking with her back to the camp. She keeps silent, hoping he clues in that his attentions aren’t wanted, but he doesn’t exactly get the hint.

“So you’ve fought against firebenders before?” he queries. For some reason, he seems to find her fascinating, and _that_ is not a reaction she’s used to from the firebenders.

She nods, wondering if he will back off if he knows that she’s not afraid of fighting his kind.

“In _combat_?” he continues, aghast.

The memory is suddenly overwhelming. Grey snow falling lazily from the sky, chaos and screams in the air, blood flowing red and warm on the ice. Her father’s lips on her brow, Sokka’s hand holding her own as they _run_ , run for their lives…

“No,” she says finally, her voice heavy. “Not exactly.”

“Oh.”

That shuts him up for a bit and she is grateful for the ensuing silence.

_I wonder what you would do if you were here with me, Sokka._

“It must feel strange for you to be here.”

She faces him sharply, but then hides her surprise. Still, he is far more perceptive than he appears, and she finds it unsettling. His presence, while helpful, respectful, and not unkind, fills her with apprehension and she can’t recognize why.

“Yeah,” she agrees, her voice distant. “Strange.”

When she says nothing more, the scarred bender picks up his paces.

“So why _are_ you here, then?” he asks her, as though he honestly thinks she’s here of her own volition. As though anyone around here could refuse the empire’s orders.

“There wasn’t much of a choice,” she answers, shrugging. “Master Pakku trained me until I was ready, and then I was ordered to come here, so I did.”

She would much rather have stayed where she was. Or been left free to roam the world, to make her way to the North Pole, for a start –

“And before Pakku?” he continues.

They close in on her before she can build her defenses. Grim stone walls, cold floors, dark rooms, all filled with the taste of fear and the stench of death and the agony of fire on her skin…

“I don’t want to talk about that,” she forces out at last. It takes an inhuman level of effort to stop her voice from shaking.

“I’m sorry,” the firebender apologizes, and it strikes her that perhaps he can even recognize that he’s upset her somehow, and the fact that he apologized for it is beyond her.

Truth be told, it’s not his fault, not entirely, so she shrugs in response. But just because he isn’t personally involved, doesn’t erase what his kind have done to her. And now it’s coming back to her, and the buildings all look exactly like the one haunting her memories, and if she closes her eyes she can hear the sobs and the screams and the pitiless laughter, and _feel_ their hands, and all her breath seems stolen away in an instant –

“Don’t worry,” the firebender’s voice cuts across her thoughts, and she snaps out of her reverie to stare at him as he continues awkwardly, “everyone fits in eventually. Chan and Ruon-Jian are losers and nobody likes them anyway. You don’t have to worry about them picking on you –“

“I’m _fine_ ,” she interrupts him bluntly. He is so far off the mark that it makes her cross. She doesn’t get why he’s trying so hard when all she wants is to be left alone. He’s a stranger, he doesn’t owe her anything. “Really.”

“Okay,” he says and falls silent.

They reach the gates of the barracks compound in silence, until he speaks up again.

“By the way – Katara, was it?”

She turns her gaze to him, wondering how he knows her name. But nods slowly regardless.

He sticks out his hand in apparent introduction.

“I don’t think I introduced myself,” he says. “My name is Zuko.”

Everything stops.

Katara knows that name. They had made her memorize every last one of them. And it’s a name for royalty, from what she remembers. It’s not a common name, so it _must_ be…

But it _can’t_ be. This firebender, though grating on her last nerve by now, had stood up for her against his fellow peers, and been almost nice to her, in his own bizarre manner.

She raises her eyes to his face, trying to hide her distress.

“Zuko,” she echoes hollowly, and she studies him, seeing him properly for the first time. And now that she knows, it’s _so_ obvious to her, she is amazed that she hasn’t seen the resemblance before. The hair is unkempt, the scar is distracting, and his attire does not suggest royalty but – _but_ those two bullies _had_ jumped out of his way when he confronted them, hadn’t they? _Moon and oceans_ , how could she have been so blind?

The same uncomfortably handsome facial features, the same dark hair, the same hard, unyielding mouth, _even the strange gold eyes_ …

The same eyes that had stared down at them mercilessly from a picture on the wall, sanctioning _everything_ that had happened, every day, for every lost year of her life…

She raises her eyes to his in defiance and anger.

“Son of _Ozai_ ,” she spits, her voice a knife thrust.

Now he looks afraid, and rightfully so.

“And Ursa,” he tries to recover, but there is no hope for him.

All day, Katara realizes, she’s been building a secret hope that her reason for being here is a sign of changing times. That maybe sunnier days await her, maybe in time the firebenders will grow out of the monsters that they’ve become. And then maybe, in time, she can learn to let go of the leaden weight she forever drags around with her.

But now _he’s_ here and it all falls apart. Now she understands why she’s been so uneasy around him all the while. Some part of her _must_ have recognized him for who he is and where he comes from.

“I can find my own way from here,” she says coldly, and she is satisfied to see him waver and quail before her. “Thanks for showing me around.”

Her gratitude is laced with derision as she stares him in the eyes and warns, “But do me a favour and _stay away from me_.”

Then she’s turning around and leaving him far behind, fighting the dizzying wave that threatens to engulf her. 

Her heart is pounding something fierce in her chest, but she barely feels it.

* * *

  _And then today I dueled a firebender and might have actually become friends with him, before I found out that he was actually the son of Prince Ozai._

_…_

_I should have killed him when I had the chance. If I’d known who he was, I would have done it._

_Maybe._

* * *

 “You took your time,” Toph observes as she storms back into her room. Katara blinks, unaware of where her feet have carried her while she’s been lost in her thoughts. “How many people did they make you fight?”

“Five,” Katara answers, trying to redirect her focus to the blind earthbender and let go of the dangerous rage that’s trapped her in its grip.

“That’s it?” Toph doesn’t even look up from where she lies on the bottom bunk, one foot crossed over the other and hands behind her head. “They made _me_ fight about twenty. Mind, I don’t even think they _have_ twenty waterbenders here, so maybe that’s why they went easy on you –“

“They made me fight firebenders,” Katara answers, her voice stilted from the amount of effort it takes to keep all the hatred she feels bottled within her. “Not waterbenders.”

“Oh,” Toph says, swinging out of her bed and straightening onto her feet. “Well that’s a lot more interesting, isn’t it?”

“Only if you like firebenders,” Katara retorts darkly.

“Ah, they’re not so bad,” Toph says dismissively, hands on her hips. “Yeah they play with fireballs, but they’re hotheaded and kind of slow, so you can still knock them down. It’s the airbenders you’ve got to watch out for, they’re _damn_ fast and light on their feet too.”

Katara raises an eyebrow. “You have airbenders here?”

“More than a fair few,” Toph answers. “I was surprised too, I thought they mostly kept to themselves.”

“How did they get roped into fighting for the Empire?” Katara asks curiously, with a frown. “ _They_ don’t take orders from the Emperor, last I heard.”

Toph shrugs carelessly. “Beats me,” is all she says, before walking past Katara and out the door. “Let’s _go_ , Sweetness.”

Katara sighs but follows the plucky earthbender out of the building and toward the mess hall. Along the way, Toph points out important people and shares little tidbits of gossip about them, and Katara can only guess at how Toph can perceive the world around her with such clarity.

A long lineup snakes around the perimeter of the canteen, but this doesn’t faze Toph. She marches right up to the front of the line, and nervously, Katara follows.

“Toph, we’re cutting the line –“ she begins, noting the glares of all the red-clad people in line behind her.

“Just follow my lead,” Toph hisses to her, before she reaches the girl handing out the cook’s fare. Suddenly, all deviousness is gone from her face and instead, she looks lost, innocent, and helpless, like the blind teenager she actually is.

“Good evening, Song,” Toph greets, her voice high and sweet and polite. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

The girl, Song, Katara surmises, flashes a warm smile in return. She’s kindly-looking and appears to be from the former Earth Kingdom.

“Evening, Sifu Toph,” she returns warmly. “Unfortunately, this week’s shipment got mixed up and we got extra grains instead of meat, so there’s really only jook on the menu tonight.”

A grimace crosses Toph’s face momentarily before she turns her expression into sincere disappointment.

“Oh _no_!” she exclaims. “That’s so awful to hear!”

Song nods sympathetically.

“I hope this won’t be too much of a problem for you,” she continues, lowering her voice. “Especially given your health conditions…”

Katara’s ears prick up. _Health conditions_? Like her blindness?

“Well,” Toph says in a long-suffering voice, and there’s a mournful look on her face now, “it isn’t ideal, but if there really _isn’t_ anything else, I suppose I’ll have to make do. I mean, you can’t help that your supplies got mixed up!”

“Right…” Song seems to be faltering now, and Toph, sensing an opening, pounces.

“I suppose I’ll just have to have a letter sent to my healer and get him to work in some accommodations,” she sighs. “I don’t know what effect this will have, he’s always _so_ strict about my diet…”

Now Song looks genuinely distressed, and after a moment, she sticks her head out further to make sure nobody’s watching, and then whispers an apologetic, “I’ll see what I can do for you, Sifu Toph!” into her ear, before ducking out of sight.

A small grin flits over Toph’s face.

“What are you doing?” Katara hisses into her ear, casting an anxious look at the angry lineup of people behind them.

“Getting some real food,” Toph mutters back, her mouth barely moving. “Have you ever tried jook before? It’s mushy garbage. Not my idea of fun, thanks.”

Song returns and almost immediately, Toph’s grin is gone, exchanged for an expression of unperturbed serenity.

“It’s the best I could do,” Song whispers conspiratorially, pressing a covered tray into Toph’s hands. “Komodo chicken. It’s not your favourite, I know, but it’s still better for your condition than jook –“

“Thank you so much!” Toph gushes, “you’re the best, Song! A real angel.”

She pauses, casting her sightless eyes in Katara’s direction thoughtfully.

“Actually,” she begins, “I don’t mean to impose but – this is Sifu Katara, the new waterbending master, and she was telling me that she has the _exact same condition_ as me! Would you be able to –?”

Song’s eyes widen as she glances quickly at Katara, who is slowly growing more and more mortified by the whole ordeal.

“Oh, of course!” she says quickly. “I had no idea!” She bobs her head at Katara and disappears again.

“Was that really necessary?” Katara grumbles through gritted teeth.

Toph closes her eyes and shrugs.

“Hey. I was just trying to look out for you, Sweetness,” she retorts nonchalantly, “but if you’d rather live off jook like the rest of these suckers, be my guest.”

Katara opens her mouth to protest, but at that moment, Song returns with another covered tray, and so she resigns herself to comply with Toph’s plot.

“Here you go, Sifu Katara,” Song says, pressing the tray into her hands. “I hope you two enjoy your dinner!”

Toph flutters a grateful, sweet smile at her. Katara merely grows more anxious as the people in the line behind them start grumbling mutinously among themselves and casting dark looks at them.

“You’re always _so_ helpful, Song!” Toph says unctuously, before walking away.

Katara stomps along beside her, thoroughly not amused.

“Well,” she reproaches irately, “I’m glad to know you made _everyone_ in that hall angry at us for _no reason whatsoever_!”

“You’re welcome, Sugar Queen.”

“ _Sugar Queen?!_ ”

* * *

  _Did I ever mention that my new roommate is a complete sociopath? She reminds me of you. Oh, so I did mention it? That’s good, then…_

* * *

Toph leads her to the mess hall, which is a large airy room lined with lots of long tables, most of which are occupied by people in uniforms. People wearing similar colours tended to congregate together, Katara notices as they walk along the perimeter of the room.

“Right,” Toph says as they approach a small table near the far side of the room. “This is where all the important people sit.”

Katara raises an eyebrow.

“Well, the fun ones, anyway,” Toph concedes, and slams her tray down on the wooden surface. The other occupants of the table, a boy clad in yellow, a girl with a braid dressed in pink, and another girl wearing brown, turn their heads to face the newcomers.

“Toph! What took you so long?” the girl in brown asks.

Toph gestures to Katara, who tries to look capable and not as confused as she feels.

“I was showing the new waterbender around,” she says noncommittally. “Everyone, this is Katara. Katara, everyone.”

Three pairs of eyes settle on her curiously. She fidgets a little, but raises a hand in a halfhearted wave.

“Hi?”

“Come on Toph, you can’t leave her hanging like that,” says the boy in yellow to Toph, before turning his eyes back to Katara. His face breaks into a wide, genial smile that Katara finds contagious. “Katara, right? I’m Aang. It’s really nice to meet you!”

Katara blinks. No one has _ever_ found it _nice_ to meet her. But when the words come out of this young boy’s mouth, with his sparkling grey eyes and sincere smile, she believes it. Something like elation wells up inside her.

“Thanks, Aang,” she says, a little more warmly. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

She sits down next to him and soon enough everyone at the table is talking to her as though she’s an old friend. The girl in brown is Suki, while the one in pink with the long braid is Ty Lee.

“Everybody else is too scared to sit with us because we’re all masters of some kind,” Toph explains.

Suki arches an eyebrow.

“I think they’re too scared to sit with us because they see _you_ sitting here, Toph,” she returns with a little smirk.

Katara privately agrees with Suki but decides not to comment.

“Whatever you say, Fancy Dancer,” Toph snorts.

“Fancy Dancer?” Katara echoes.

“She’s poking fun at my form,” Suki explains wryly. “I fight using the form of my home island. It’s very fluid and graceful. But Toph here just seems to think it’s pointlessly fancy dancing.”

“I wouldn’t say _pointless_ ,” Toph clarifies. “I mean, I don’t know what it looks like, so it’s hard to be sure.”

“So, you’re a bending master too?” Katara asks Suki, trying to place her origins. She looks like she could be from the former Earth kingdom, but it’s difficult to tell.

“No, I’m not a bender,” Suki explains, shaking her head. “But, there are plenty of people in the division who aren’t benders either. I employ a very traditional fighting technique that relies on speed and balance rather than brute strength. You’d be surprised how many firebenders get taken down by that.”

“I’m a waterbender,” Katara replies, with a wry twist of her lips. “Believe me, I know the value of speed and balance against the firebenders.”

“Most of them rely on brute strength alone,” Suki continues. “It makes them singularly easy to overpower once they tire out, or become too slow.”

“I dunno,” Toph shrugs. “I wouldn’t underestimate the power of brute strength."

She pulls back the cover on her tray and begins tucking into her plate of komodo chicken.

“How did you manage to get _that_?” Ty Lee asks, wide-eyed. She and Suki exchange a sideways glance at each other, their porridge dripping from their spoons.

“Easy. I didn’t want to eat _mush_ for the rest of the week,” Toph says bluntly, making a face. “Plus I know for a _fact_ that the officers get better food, so I wanted in.”

Katara wonders whether any of them know about Toph’s ongoing ruse to fool the poor serving girl into giving her better food. It certainly didn’t _seem_ like that was Toph’s first time wheedling her way into a better meal…

“That’s Toph for you. Always resourceful,” Aang comments cheerfully. He turns his eyes to Katara’s tray, from which she delicately transfers bites of the numbingly spicy dish to her mouth. “I see she let you in on her scheme. She must like you a lot.”

Katara reaches for her glass of water and takes a sip.

“Why? She’s never helped you out before?”

Aang shrugs.

“Even if she did, it’d be wasted on me. I’m a vegetarian. I _love_ jook!”

He plops a heaping spoonful of it into his mouth and chews happily to emphasize his point.

Katara rewards him with a small smile, and as a result he swallows the wrong way, breaking into a loud cough. Heads turn in their direction as he eases up, his face thoroughly red.

“Sorry,” he wheezes, smacking a fist into his sternum repeatedly. “That was silly of me.”

“It’s okay, Twinkletoes,” Toph reassures him. “It can’t get much worse than _that_.”

“Twinkletoes?”

Aang catches her questioning gaze, and flushes a deeper shade of red.

“She thinks I’m light on my feet,” he offers as an explanation.

Katara takes a proper good look at him, and for the first time, notices the boy’s shaved head, and that he’s covered with the strangest blue tattoos in the shape of arrows.

“You’re an airbender?” she blurts out, her eyes widening. She’s never _seen_ one before. Now she’s eating dinner next to one, and apparently, she’s nearly killed him with a smile.

“From the Southern Air Temple,” he says with a nod.

“Why on earth are you _here_?”

The words slip out before she can put a bridle on her tongue, but to her relief, Aang doesn’t seem offended by her question.

“I don’t really know!” he pipes up, with a bashful shrug. “I mastered airbending when I was twelve, and the masters over there were really strict – except monk Gyatso, Gyatso’s really great – but after a while, I got bored at the air temple, and I wanted to explore the world. One thing led to another and now, I’m here!”

Katara can’t imagine anyone being here by choice. She thinks of her own life and the circumstances that have brought her here, and the contrast between her and the happy young boy sitting next to her seems insurmountable.

“But…” Katara tries again, trying to _understand_. “You’re an _airbender_. An air nomad. A _monk_.”

Aang nods slowly, wide-eyed. He slurps another spoonful of jook, and manages to swallow it properly this time.

“So…so what made you join the Fire Empire’s _army_ , of all things?” she presses. “Doesn’t that go against everything you learned, being taught by monks and all?”

Aang puts his bowl down and glances at her with his big grey eyes.

“I don’t really think of it like that,” he says steadily. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here because Monk Gyatso owed Crown Prince Iroh a favour, and because I get to airbend all day and come up with new ways to do things that nobody’s ever done before!”

_I also met a really naïve young boy named Aang. I don’t know if I can blame him though. He’s still young, and not just in years. There’s an innocence about him that’s almost enchanting._

“That’s sort of why I’m here,” Katara confesses. “Master Pakku said I’d learned all I could from him and that the next step on my journey was here.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it very enriching,” Aang tells her with a smile. “You’ll get to test yourself in ways you’d never imagined before.”

“Try me,” Katara replies darkly, and bites into another piece of komodo chicken in a very unladylike manner.

“I’m pretty sure you won’t have seen an operation like this before,” Aang continues blithely, oblivious to Katara’s mounting hostility. “We have dedicated masters from each bending discipline who work together to create new bending forms! And sometimes we also even train with non-bender specialists, like Suki and Ty Lee –“

“What do _you_ do, anyway?” Katara interrupts, looking curiously at Ty Lee. With her perfectly colour-coordinated, midriff-baring pink ensemble, long brown hair, and innocent face, she certainly doesn’t _look_ anything fierce.

“Yeah, tell her what you do, Circus Freak,” Toph echoes with a bit of a grimace.

“You let her call you Circus Freak?”

Ty Lee shrugs.

“Well, I _did_ perform in a circus for a while, after I ran away from home. Circus Freak is a _compliment_!”

“So…you’re an acrobat, then?” Katara raises an eyebrow.

“No. I block chi!” Ty Lee chirps. “Well, I’m _also_ an acrobat, but I’m _here_ because I can block chi.”

“What does that even mean?” Katara queries in confusion.

“It means she can take your bending away,” Toph says flatly, “just by poking you funny.”

Katara’s jaw _drops_ ; she unconsciously scuttles a few inches away from the unassuming girl in pink.

“I can show you whenever we’re scheduled to fight together!” Ty Lee offers merrily. “It’s really not that bad!”

Toph scoffs while Aang squirms uncomfortably in his seat.

“Easy for you to say. You’ve never had your bending taken away.”

_And then I met the scariest girl on the planet. She used to work in a circus and wears pink. You’d probably try to flirt with her if you saw her, and she’d probably flirt right back._

She learns that Ty Lee comes from a well-to-do Fire Nation family, that Suki hails from the island of the legendary earthbender Kyoshi, that Toph used to be a frequent champion of underground earthbending tournaments (which, come to think of it, really doesn’t surprise her all that much now)…

“So fighting other earthbenders is a cinch for me,” Toph explains breezily. “That’s why I enjoy cross-training so much.” She turns to face Aang, Suki, and Ty Lee. “Apparently Katara’s already a pro at it. They made her fight five firebenders for her test exercise earlier this evening.”

Suki whistles in appreciation as Aang looks at her with a new respect.

“ _Five_?” he repeats incredulously.

Katara nods.

“Who did you fight?” Ty Lee wants to know.

Katara shrugs. “A bunch of idiots.”

She doesn’t want to talk about her brush with the prince after her duel. The rage in her is still too fresh.

“Sounds like Chan and Ruon-Jian, then!” Ty Lee remarks to Suki, who snickers. She points at a couple of guys dressed in red, sitting at a crowded table in the middle of the room. Katara recognizes them as the ones from earlier in the day and nods.

“They’re the worst,” Toph comments baldly, finishing the last of her chicken. “They’re slow, dumb, _and_ arrogant. If I didn’t have so much fun knocking them around, I’d have put them out of their misery by now.”

“Their fathers are high-ranking military officers,” Ty Lee informs Katara in a whisper. “Chan’s dad is an _admiral_. That’s why they throw their weight around even though they’re mediocre benders at best.”

“But Jeong-Jeong said I had to fight the top five benders in the division,” Katara says slowly. “Why would he include those two if they’re so bad?”

“He probably wanted to see you slap them around,” Suki suggests. “He isn’t that fond of them either.”

“They told me they were some of the most important teenagers in the whole Fire Nation,” Katara comments absently, recalling their taunts when she’d first entered the premises.

Ty Lee lets out a peal of high-pitched laughter.

“They _wish_!” she crows. “They’re important enough, but they’re not _royalty_ or anything. Speaking of –“ she trails off and turns her head, her eyes spotting a girl approaching in the distance. She waves merrily. “ _Hi_ , Mai! Sitting with us tonight?”

“No,” the girl called Mai answers in a dreary voice. She glances at them all briefly before her pale eyes meet Katara’s. “Who’s this?”

“Oh!” Ty Lee claps a hand to her forehead. “Katara, this is my old friend Mai. She’s the resident blades expert. Mai, this is Katara, the new waterbending master!”

A sudden smirk flickers across Mai’s plaintive features.

“Oh, so _you’re_ the waterbender, then?” she asks. “I should congratulate you. Zuko hasn’t said a _word_ since you trounced him earlier today.”

Katara chokes on a bite of her chicken and spits it out, coughing furiously.

“Oh, you didn’t mention you got to fight _Zuko_!” Aang chimes in warmly. “That must have been something! He’s a really great bender! I wish I got to watch!”

“Yeah, apparently it was intense,” Mai goes on, not noticing Katara’s increasing distress. “He didn’t say as much, but you know how he gets. Bit of a sore loser.”

Her smirk widens. “Plus he won’t admit it, but he’s in a world of pain right now, so I think we’ll just have dinner in his room.”

_Good_ , Katara thinks to herself vehemently. _Let the royal twit stay inside and whine._

“Sounds _romantic_ ,” Ty Lee comments, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, while Toph mimes a gag. “Have fun, you two! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Since when have _you_ ever set a standard for anyone?” Mai returns witheringly. She regards Katara briefly. “Nice meeting you,” she says blandly, then leaves with an imperious nod at everyone else. Her long black hair and deep red silks swish in her wake.

“I can _never_ really get used to her,” Suki mutters in a low voice.

“They are _so cute_ together!” Ty Lee squeals, starry-eyed and not hearing Suki’s words. “The next power couple of the Fire Nation, just you wait!”

“Who?” Katara asks blankly.

Ty Lee goggles at her.

“You’re an oblivious one!” she says. “Mai and Prince Zuko, of course!”

“Really? _Her_?” She turns her head, squinting at the departing girl. “How did _that_ happen?”

“Oh, well, Sparky’s clueless so he had no idea that she was into him,” Toph hijacks the narrative in a bored voice, picking at the undersides of her nails, “so after a while I told him to go ask her out already and he did and they’ve been making me gag ever since.”

“Your gift for storytelling is unparalleled,” Suki says dryly.

“She seems way too good for him,” Katara observes, her disdain obvious.

Ty Lee gasps so hard Katara fears she’ll fall off her chair.

“But she’s so _lucky_ to have him!” she exclaims. “He’s a _catch_! He’s _royalty_!”

Katara’s face involuntarily scrunches up in disgust. She does _not_ condone Ty Lee’s taste in men. Not like her history has been any better, but still…

“ _And_ kind of easy on the eyes,” Suki adds, her mouth now quirking up at the corners. Katara whips her head around to gape at the other girl. “What with that hair –“

“And that _face_!”

“And those _eyes_!”

“He’s just kind of all around gorgeous –“

“Well, he’s a decent enough guy too, but –“

“And _fit_ , when he takes his shirt off, it’s like –“

“Right? I mean, even with the scar –”

“Oh, _Mai_ doesn’t even _notice_ it anymore,” Ty Lee gushes. “Plus she says he’s an animal, you know, a complete, restless _animal_ in the –“

“ _Oh-kay then_ ,” Katara decides that she’s heard _more_ than enough, and cuts them off before they can say anything more about Prince Zuko and what he does in his spare time with Mai. Already, her mind is conjuring images of him that she finds disturbing, and she wants none of it.

“You really don’t seem to like him, Sweetness.” This from Toph, and suddenly, everyone at the table is staring at her curiously.

Katara shrugs and takes a long gulp of her water.

“What’s there to like?” she retorts. “His family’s responsible for the subjugation of the Water Tribes, and his father is a monster. What makes him any better?”

A stunned silence follows her words.

“I don’t really think that’s fair, Katara…” Aang says hesitantly. “Blaming him for everything his dad did. He’s his own person. Besides, not everyone in Zuko’s family is bad.”

“Aang, with all due respect,” Katara bites back with a touch of impatience. “You really don’t know what the firebenders are capable of. Not like I do.”

Another tension-filled silence fills the air.

“Well, that may be all well and good, Sugar Queen,” Toph says leisurely, “but even _you’ve_ gotta admit. Sparky’s one _hell_ of a looker.”

Katara slams her fists onto the surface of the table. Her face turns red. 

“ _You don’t even know what he looks like!_ ”

* * *

  _So, basically. Everyone here is crazy._

_Not as crazy as you, though._

_…In truth, maybe it isn’t as bad as I’d imagined. The prince being here…really threw me off, I’ll admit, but there are enough people around who aren’t firebenders and they seem decent enough. Maybe it’ll be enough to get by._

_It’ll have to be._

_I hope that wherever you are, you’re safe and hidden away from everyone who wants to find you. And even though you’ll never read this, I want you to know that every day, I’m fighting my way back to your side. I don’t care how long it takes me. One day I’ll be strong enough to split the oceans apart and walk right back to you._

_Until then, I hold you in my heart._

_Your loving sister,_

_Katara._

* * *

 


	3. i don't stand a chance

**disclaimer:**  Bryke owns the ATLA playground, i'm just here to play.

**author's notes:** i'm sorry for how long this chapter took! the next few chapters in general were tricky for me to sketch out, as they are important in terms of setting the groundwork for everything to come afterward. 

also, a quick heads-up about the maiko in this chapter...i'm not a huge fan of them, but their relationship as written is important to the characters and their eventual development, so if you are aggressively anti-maiko, i ask that you keep an open mind or just...skip ahead to the next parts? 

on a sidenote, thank you so much for all the comments/kudos! they make me very squee and keep me motivated, especially when i get a bad case of the writer's block. (struggles of having written all the exciting parts of the story first, and then having to go back and write the in-betweens).

ANYWAY.

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter iii.** i don't stand a chance

* * *

_but i would rather be alone_  
_than pretend i feel alright_  
-  
"ready to start"/arcade fire

* * *

 The sun’s rays manage to peek through the cover of his curtains and tease the skin on his face. With a groan, he opens his eyes and winces at the bright light that blinds him. He raises his hand to block out the light, sitting up slowly, the covers sliding down his bare chest.

Mai slumbers next to him, a quiet warmth. She isn’t as warm as a firebender would be, but her presence is reassuring all the same. He turns to look at her, her face more peaceful in sleep than it ever is when she’s awake. Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile the two sides of her. But he owes it to her to keep trying.

The sun’s rays start to tickle her face too. Frowning, he gingerly gets out of bed and adjusts the curtain so that his room falls into a yellowish half-light.

It’s barely dawn, but he’s already awake. Long years at the division have made him accustomed to their early hours. And he knows that he has cross-elemental training at midmorning, so he might as well try to limber up before then, if he hopes to stand a chance today.

He hears Mai shifting on his bed and he looks over at her. She’s awake now too, and her clear, grey eyes are fixed directly on his. His mouth goes dry as she shoots a small smile at him.

“Good morning,” she says, in her low, husky voice. She sits up, the covers scarcely concealing her bare skin from his eyes. “Did you sleep well, my _prince_?”

She uses the title fondly, rather than as a formality.

His mouth quirks at the corner a little, and he climbs back onto the bed to sit across from her.

“Of course I did,” he answers seriously. “I had a beautiful lady sleeping next to me all night long.”

Mai rolls her eyes, but that small, almost imperceptible smile is still on her lips.

“And you just let her _sleep_? That’s not very nice of you.”

“Believe me,” Zuko says in a low voice, leaning forward so that his lips are inches from hers, “I _wanted_ to. I _would_ have.” He kisses her briefly, before breaking away. “All night, if you wanted.”

She arches an eyebrow.

“That’s a generous proposition,” she murmurs back, her voice betraying just the hint of a shiver.

Zuko backs away and shrugs. “I’m a generous man.”

“So why didn’t you?” Mai challenges, with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m hearing a lot of promises, but not enjoying a lot of following through.”

Zuko lets out a groan.

“Mai, I’m still in _so much pain_ , I can’t, I physically can’t.” To his credit, she thinks, he _does_ look absolutely miserable as he says it. “But, but I promise to make it up to you.”

She doesn’t reply, just continues gazing at him evenly without a hitch in her expression.

“Soon,” he promises.

“Good,” she says, stretching with a sigh. “Would you care to walk me back to my room?”

“I doubt you’re incapable of sneaking back on your own,” Zuko retorts, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re right. They’d probably catch you before they got to me,” Mai agrees.

Zuko doesn’t deny it. When it comes to matters of stealth, no one holds a candle to his girlfriend.

“In that case, I’d be happy to walk you back,” he says eventually. “Someone has to take the fall in case we get caught. And you have a reputation to maintain.”

“What about yours?” Mai teases, the smirk on her mouth widening as she gets out of bed and reaches for the robes she’d discarded unceremoniously the night before.

“What about mine?” Zuko shrugs it off, and she doesn’t see the darkness that momentarily crosses his face.

He is a prince of nothing. What worth does such a reputation have?

* * *

 They walk in shadow back to where the girls sleep. Strictly speaking, he’s not allowed to be here. But strictly speaking, she’s not allowed to sleep in his room, either, and that’s never stopped her. The officers insist the policy is for maintaining order and discipline among the ranks, but none of them would line up to enforce it. All the same, he prefers his privacy and is relieved that Mai does too.

He kisses her at the door of her single room, and he enjoys the soft sighing sound she makes into his mouth as they break away.

“See you at cross-training,” he says to her softly.

“I’ll go easy on you today,” she says simply in reply, before turning away and closing the door.

It’s a courtesy and he knows it. Knowing that he has practice with the other firebenders soon, he wanders out of the building and along the winding path by the lake into the forest beyond the encampment. Nothing like a little morning walk to clear his head before the day coming up ahead.

Drills with the firebenders. Nothing exciting there, except perhaps perfecting a couple of new forms he’s been working on. And he needs to brush up on his technique, his duel last night has made him realize how vulnerable his bending is against the waterbenders –

And there it is, again. Her angry face glaring at him in his mind’s eye, wide eyes blue as the sky and hateful as sin, the shift from reluctant tolerance to barely restrained wrath so sudden, he hadn’t even been able to sense it.

For what? He still has no clue. And it bothers him. He doesn’t even begin to question why, for whatever reason, the opinion of a complete stranger matters to him, the son of royalty. But for some bizarre reason that eludes him, it _does_.

Maybe it’s because he’d witnessed the other benders being complete and utter jerks to her, or because he respected her strength, or because she had such a stoic, long-suffering look about her and he just wanted to spare her, perhaps show her that not all firebenders were the same…

But instead she’d soundly rebuffed his feeble attempts and told him to stay away.

He wonders if she truly hates him. And if so, why?

_It’s because you’re weak, you’ve always been weak, and you always will be_ , whispers the voice in his mind, the one that never stops talking no matter what he says or does. _Even the peasant water tribe girl knows it. You’re a son of Agni and you go around like a little child at play. If you want her respect, you should take it. Like your father would._

He closes his eyes and stops in his paces.

Prince Ozai is a monster. But he is still his father.

The waterbender had seemed well-acquainted with his father. She had known his name, reacted to it viciously. Zuko is not familiar with the history of the water tribes, and their relation with the empire has been…complicated at its best, abjectly horrifying at its worst. If his father had played any role in facilitating the relations, he is not surprised that the waterbender hates him. In fact, he would be very surprised that every waterbender in the empire hasn’t sworn blood vengeance on his entire family line.

He would do no less in her shoes, he surmises dully.

Then he catches himself, and berates himself for spending so much of his precious time focusing on the animosity of one bloody peasant girl.

* * *

As he walks back to the encampment, he feels a little better. The cool morning air has lifted his spirits and calmed his racing mind. He thinks his day might shape up to be less frustrating than he’d previously thought. Maybe he’ll even last through a bout in cross-training today…

“ _…what the_ heck _are those?”_

_“They could be tattoos, I hear they have them_ everywhere.”

“ _Why does she have handprints tattooed all over her –“_

_“They’re_ not _handprints, you idiot!”_

_“Yeah they are, look!”_

Hushed whispers carry over the morning breeze and tickle his ears unremittingly. He frowns and turns to get a better look. Lying on their stomachs on the grass by the lake, hidden behind a giant rock, are three guys about his age. They’re staring wide-eyed into the lake where the girls usually take their baths.

Zuko lets out an exasperated sigh, a hint of flame bursting forth from his mouth as he does. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and this isn’t the first time he’s caught them spying.

“What the hell are you doing back there?” he barks at them, moving to stand directly behind them, but out of sight of the lake, so that whoever’s trying to wash up for the morning has her privacy. “And why are you staring at the water there?”

The ensuing yelp and splash in the distance suggests that more than his intended audience have heard his voice.

Chan, Ruon-Jian, and a third soldier, Hide, all jolt and face him in alarm.

He crosses his arms and rubs his forehead with a hand wearily.

“Why am I not surprised that it’s you three again?” he says, but he isn’t asking a question. “Don’t you have _any_ standards at all?”

Chan rolls his eyes and gets to his feet.

“And here comes the noble _prince_ ,” he says scornfully. “Here to save all the baseborn and peasants from the scary _noblemen_.”

“There’s nothing noble about you right now, Chan,” Zuko retorts coldly. “Right now, all I see are three pathetic little boys, pretending to be men by hiding behind rocks and peeping at girls while they bathe.”

“So what?” Chan folds _his_ arms defiantly too. Behind him, Ruon-Jian and Hide also get to their feet. “We didn’t hurt anyone. We were just _looking_. No harm in that.”

“Except maybe to my _eyes_ ,” Ruon-Jian complains loudly, making a face. “She was _not_ a looker.”

Almost immediately following his words, the ground beneath the three boys ripples and rises up abruptly, sending them flying twelve feet into the air and landing one on top of the other in a giant crumpled heap.

Zuko doesn’t hide his snort of disdain.

“If you thought you could spy on Sifu Toph and get away with it, then you really, _really_ deserved that,” he says evenly. “Just because she’s blind doesn’t mean she isn’t aware of you. I would probably watch my step if I were you, because unlike myself, Toph can hold a grudge.”

As he walks away, he reflects that at least he can look forward to pummeling Chan and Ruon-Jian into the ground during the morning drills.

* * *

“They’re gone,” Toph calls out, slowly moving out of her bending form. “You can go back to doing whatever you were doing over there.”

Katara had dipped below the surface of the water the second she’d heard voices nearby, bending the water away from her face so that she could still breathe underwater while waiting for the boys to go away. Following Toph’s words, she hesitantly pokes her head over the surface, but remains stubbornly submerged below the water.

“Are you sure?” she queries skeptically. Toph may be able to perceive the world around her with amazing clarity, but the girl is still _blind_. How is she supposed to know where the stupid boys are?

“Positive,” Toph replies, stepping deeper into the shallows of the lake and stripping off her underclothes without a thought for modesty. There’s a note of satisfaction in her voice as she adds, “I don’t think I broke any of their bones because none of them limped out, but they’re going to be hurting today.”

“Thanks,” Katara says darkly, and slowly rises. Scowling, she raises her hands, and four sheets of thick, opaque ice rise from the water, forming a makeshift enclosure to give her some privacy.

Perhaps she should have anticipated that her time here would quickly deteriorate into a sour experience. Aang’s words be damned, with the son of Prince Ozai present, it would only be a matter of time before all the firebenders revealed their ugly colours. The naïve young airbender could preach all he wanted, but he was not of her world, so how could he possibly know?

_He may be wise in the way of the monks_ , Katara thinks to herself, raising an imperfect sphere of water and bending it in slow, calming circles around herself, like an oddly-shaped, shining moon, _but I have the wisdom of the Water Tribes._

_Never trust a firebender_ is chief among that wisdom. And this morning’s incident is only proof of that.

But the rest of the day lies ahead of her and she has a jam-packed schedule that isn’t going away, regardless of her feelings about her new compatriots. So she scrubs her body with the bar of soap and washes her hair with the herbal oils that had been in her issued kit, and when all the dust and sweat and grime of her travels have been stripped away, she rinses herself one last time and wades into the shallows.

“You sure took your time,” Toph remarks.

She removes the water collecting on her body and hair, and drops it carelessly to the ground.

“I haven’t had a good bath in a long while,” she replies briefly, winding her wrappings around herself and reaching for her oversized blue tunic. “No thanks to whoever those guys were.”

She fights to keep the anger from her voice but Toph isn’t so easily fooled.

“That’s why I _love_ cross-training,” she announces, drying herself off and slipping back into her underclothes. “It’s the only time you can get away with beating those idiots into the ground without getting in trouble from their _noble fathers_.”

“You sound like you have personal experience on that front,” Katara remarks, sliding on a pair of loose-fitting trousers.

Toph shrugs as she dresses herself in green cotton.

“I may or may not have beaten one of them up in an extremely humiliating manner in front of half the division,” she confesses blithely as she ties her mane of black hair back into its nondescript, practical bun. “Who then very predictably went crying to his daddy about it, and _then_ I got an angry letter warning me to watch myself or there would be consequences.”

“That’s awful,” Katara says with a frown, slowly detangling her own hair with her fingers. The oil had been good, making it easer to separate the thick, heavy strands. “What did you do?”

“I told him to stuff it,” Toph sings breezily, shoving a gold headband in her hair. “Otherwise I’d write to _my_ dad.”

Katara blinks.

“Who’s your dad?” she asks curiously. The way Toph behaves, it’s tough to believe that she hadn’t just…sprung from the ground fully formed.

“Someone important,” Toph replies dismissively, with another shrug. “Important and _rich_.”

“Then why are you _here_?” Katara can’t help but ask. “Is your father still around?”

“Yeah. Why?”

The casual tone of Toph’s voice throws Katara off.

“Nothing,” she stammers uncertainly. “Just – why would you be here if your father’s still around?”

“Because I felt like it.” Now Toph is growing defensive, and Katara eases up. “And I don’t really talk to the old man anymore anyway, but the point is, Admiral Chan _thinks_ I do, so he’s stuck doing what I tell him.”

She folds her arms across her chest triumphantly.

“Now that’s power,” Katara grudgingly admits, before dropping the subject altogether.

* * *

Cross-training, Katara learns, does not take place in the large arena where she’d fought yesterday. Instead, it’s some distance away from the base, through a gravel path in the woods, not dissimilar to the one that had led her here. The ground of choice is a spacious, tamped down patch of earth, a good length away from the trees and situated right on the riverbank. Katara inhales deeply, feeling the rush of the water in the hollows of her mind, and she feels whole again.

The area is nondescript, but its perimeter is bordered by low-lying stone walls. Their purpose is unclear to her, as they look like they can hardly stop a rolling boulder, let alone contain the forces of multiple powerful benders of different elements.

“Sifu Toph. Sifu Katara. Welcome.”

Katara fights to contain her yelp, as Master Jeong-Jeong stands up from where he’d previously been sitting, out of her sight. But she collects herself and slides into a bow to acknowledge the senior man.

“Forgive me if I startled you,” Jeong-Jeong says somewhat penitently, “I did not expect any of you here for another hour at least.”

“I was just showing Katara around,” Toph explains lightly, straightening from her bow. “Figured she could use the extra time to get her bearings straight before you put her through cross-training with us.”

“How very considerate of you, Toph,” Jeong-Jeong comments, his eyes widening.

“Not at all. I’m just itching for a good fight with someone other than the airbender,” Toph explains. “And I heard Katara made short work of all your firebenders last night.”

“Quite,” replies the older man, still somewhat taken aback by Toph’s candidness. “Well, it will be quite interesting to see how Sifu Katara will take to fighting against new opponents. This entire project is all about learning and adapting to constantly changing circumstances. After what I witnessed last night, I am quite eager to see how you will fare against our other bending masters.”

He directs his words to Katara and she feels herself redden in response.

“Oh, well,” she sputters, “I wasn’t expecting to fight today, but – but I suppose I’ll try then –“

Feeling distinctly like she’s been led into a trap, she stands with her feet spread apart into a balanced stance and inhales deeply. Her hands move as though of their own accord. A stream of water from the nearby riverbank flows in a graceful arc through the air and hovers in the space between her palms.

Toph has taken up a space directly across from her in the makeshift arena. She runs the soles of each foot against the tamped earth briefly before she clenches her hands into fists and assumes the deepest, widest, most _rooted_ stance Katara has ever seen in her life.

The blind girl _stomps_ and makes a motion like she’s lifting something very heavy. All of a sudden, the walls that border them grow fifty feet into the air. Almost instantly thereafter, they’re in an enclosed battleground, one that allows them plenty of space to bend to their heart’s content without risking too much damage to anything beyond the walls.

Without dropping her water, Katara cranes her neck to gaze around at the high rock walls surrounding her. If she’d felt trapped before…

“What’s going on?” she asks nervously, her hands twisting the water into a multi-tailed whip nonetheless.

Toph smiles grimly.

“Cross-training, Sugar Queen,” she announces jubilantly.

Before Katara even has time to react, Toph slams a foot into the earth and pushes an iron fist into the air in front of her.

The ground beneath Katara slides out from under her. She goes down before she even has a chance to process what’s happening.

Toph stays true to her word. By the time Aang shows up, half an hour later, Katara has well and truly eaten dirt.

* * *

The morning passes by quickly and not unenjoyably for Zuko. After going through some basic drills, he’d been called upon to demonstrate some advanced bending forms to the others. Then when Chan gets called up to face him, he takes no small joy in taking him down a peg.

“If you keep that up, Prince Zuko, they’ll be making you a bending master in no time,” remarks the supervising officer as he witnesses Zuko pull off a flawlessly executed spiral kick and effortlessly knocks his adversary out of bounds.

A small part inside him glows with the praise, but Zuko knows there is a long way for him before he can truly be regarded as a master. He lacks the discipline and spiritual focus required to truly master his element, and to be frank, there are other things on which he would prefer to spend his time, rather than meditating and practicing forms nonstop. Like his lovely, perfect girlfriend, who even now remains an enigma to him, and he can’t wait to figure her out.

A small smile crosses his face, as he begins to think of a plan for tonight. He needs to make it up to Mai for being completely out of commission last night. He’ll have dinner brought to their room, he decides, he’ll get the cooks to make her a whole platter of fruit tarts, because they’re her favourite, and then after that, he’ll lean in, and she’ll make that little sighing noise that he likes, and he’ll run his fingers along the seam of her dress and slip the little knots holding it together loose and _then_ –

“Time’s up, everyone,” calls the officer, marking the end of practice. “Same time tomorrow, then. I expect some of you to spend a little less time on your arses and more time actually bending, you hear me?”

They are dismissed and Zuko almost feels cheerful as he slowly picks his way toward the distant grounds where cross-training occurs.

He can’t deny that he’s nervous to face the waterbender again. But at the same time, a bit of optimism remains inside him. Maybe, _maybe_ if he apologizes for whatever his father’s done, she’ll forgive him and they can start off again on decidedly more civil terms. Yes, that sounds like a perfectly reasonable course of action, he thinks to himself. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?

His inner voice snarks at him for even thinking of apologizing to a lowly peasant like her, and he rationalizes it in his head as making things easier for himself by not having one of the most powerful benders at the base hate him with every fibre of her being. He reasons that it is a simple gesture that will save a lot of tension and complication down the road. His uncle would agree, it is the responsible and honourable thing to do.

A new confidence spreads through him and he picks up his pace. It won’t be so bad, he assures himself, even if he is still guaranteed a beating when it’s his turn to step into the arena.

The ground trembles beneath his feet as he steps out of the forest and cross the last few steps toward the makeshift stadium. The walls are up and the earth is shaking, and there’s a general sound of mayhem coming from inside.

He is not surprised. Oftentimes they start without him.

Pressing his hand against the door carved into the stone, he pushes his way into the ring and closes it behind him.

Then he drops to the ground and rolls out of the way just in time, as a boulder hurtles toward him and crashes into the wall behind.

“Always keeping me on my toes,” he mumbles to himself, looking up at the chaos above.

The other three haven’t even noticed his arrival. They’re occupied within a colossal melee. Toph stomps and punches her fists out in her spot in the centre of the ring, and the ground all around her ripples and contorts and snaps like a living thing. Aang is whirling around on his glider, easily dodging her attacks from below and remaining above it all.

Katara…is not having an easy time of it. Unused to both new bending styles, she puts up a valiant effort but both Toph and Aang have her on the defensive, and it’s only a matter of time before a well-placed boulder pulverizes her guards and she crashes to the ground.

“That will be enough for now,” calls Master Jeong-Jeong, who had been watching with a grim expression on his face. “You may take a short breather before we continue.”

Toph straightens up and pulls her fists in close to her sides. The ground flattens to a smooth surface and suddenly it’s possible to walk again. She looks no worse for the wear, apart from a bit of sweat plastering her bangs to her forehead.

“Not bad, Sugar Queen!” she calls out to the fallen waterbender, now groaning and struggling to get up to her feet. “You made me sweat a bit!”

“Go to hell, Toph,” gasps the waterbender thickly, through a mouthful of what sounds like dirt. With a colossal effort, she manages to get to her knees, and then stands up, wincing all the while. Her clothes used to be blue, but are now stained brown as her skin, and dust cakes her face and hair. A murderous expression rests on her face as she struggles to bend the water dissolved in the earth around her, lifting it up and washing the dirt off of herself.

“Here, let me help,” says Aang, who’s landed next to her. Before Katara can refuse, he swings his glider and a plume of wind blasts the dust off of her, making a dreadful mess of her hair.

“Thanks,” Katara mutters through gritted teeth. Aang doesn’t look particularly winded either. Both he and Toph look like they’ve come back from a light little jog in the woods.

_She_ looks like she’s been run over by a tank.

How could it even be possible? It wasn’t like the two of them had teamed up against her or anything. It had just been a supremely infuriating ordeal, in which both of her opponents had always seemed to outdo her every action, and all her bending seemed _useless_ against them, and they always seemed to know what she was going to do next – even Toph! _Especially_ Toph! Toph, the _blind_ bender who shouldn’t even be able to see her, yet somehow always knew exactly where she was and _never missed_.

Every muscle in her body screams and she feels like she’s cracked a rib or two, it hurts to breathe, and she is altogether _not_ happy when she raises her eyes and spots the new arrival standing at the perimeter with Master Jeong-Jeong.

“Don’t worry about it,” Aang says kindly, misinterpreting Katara’s growing ire. “It’s always tough facing a different type of bender for the first time. You’ll get used to it once you come up with a strategy.”

“I’m sure,” Katara grumps with a thunderous scowl.

_She_ does not like losing.

And now, after being soundly defeated by two chirpy kids, _just_ after having firebenders spy on her in the bath, Katara is in a foul mood as Prince Zuko walks up to her and Aang.

“Hi Zuko!” Aang pipes up cheerfully, his face splitting into a wide smile. “Ready to get your butt kicked today?”

“I’ve been waiting all morning,” Zuko replies, the corners of his mouth lifting as he returns Aang’s gaze.

Then he notices the forbidding expression gathering on Katara’s face and his levity all but vanishes.

“Good. You don’t stand a _chance_. I heard Katara _buried_ you yesterday,” Aang rattles on, apparently unaware of Katara’s intensifying aggression.

Zuko lets out a small cough. He expects the waterbender to look somewhat triumphant at that, to hold her victory over him.

Instead, she gives him nothing. She is entirely unyielding.

“She did,” Zuko admits, wondering if by acknowledging her superior ability in front of others, she’ll feel kindlier toward him in spite of herself. “She definitely knows how to press an advantage against firebenders, at least.”

Suddenly, she’s glaring at him furiously and he flinches. He doesn’t know why. He can’t think of what he said that would cause _that_ reaction in her.

“I’m sure she’ll work out a strategy against the other kinds of benders too,” Aang interjects diplomatically, starting to catch on to the hostile undercurrents of the conversation. “I was just telling her that. Right Katara? It’s all about working out a strategy, and watching how the other bending forms are similar and different from your own, and adapting –“

“That’s right, Aang,” Katara says shortly. “Excuse me.”

She stalks away from them, walking right past Zuko without another word.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the two remaining boys.

Disappointment curls in the pit of Zuko’s stomach, but he knows it’s easier to face an unpleasant task head on rather than dance around its edges. So he braces himself for the onslaught ahead and nods at Aang briefly.

“Give me a minute,” he mutters to Aang, and then hurries after the haughty waterbender, who’s crossed half the enclosure by now.

“Wait!” he calls after her, breaking into a full-on run. “Sifu Katara!”

She stiffens at the sound of her name but doesn’t slow down, so he races to overtake her and stands directly in front of her, halting her progress.

“Can you give me a moment?” he asks her quietly, scanning her face carefully.

She won’t even _look_ at him. Her jaw is set and her fists are clenched and she is positively _shaking_ with fury.

“Get out of my way,” she commands in a low voice.

He deflates a little as she sidesteps him and walks on, but he is not one to give up without a fight and so, doggedly, he pursues her.

“I just want to apologize,” he says loudly, and he sees her freeze at that, “for whatever I’ve said or done that may have offended you.”

She doesn’t say a word or move a muscle. Taking that as encouragement, he takes a step closer.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he continues in measured tones, “and maybe if we could start again, if possible, I’d really like that –“

She slowly turns around to face him. At first he is relieved that she finally is willing to meet his eyes. Until he looks into hers and sees pure, unadulterated hatred swimming in them. She walks right up to him, until her enraged face is mere inches from his, and her narrowed eyes fill his vision.

“What part of _leave me alone_ do you not understand, _Prince_ Zuko?” she demands in a dangerously quiet voice that wobbles with barely suppressed rage.

His mouth goes dry again and he tries to say something, anything at all in his defense, but his tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth and he struggles.

“I just want to know what I did wrong,” he manages at last. “Can you tell me that, at least?”

But her ears are empty. She scoffs at him instead.

“Go to hell,” she spits at him spitefully and turns away again.

He wrenches her wrist and stops her in her tracks. Her muscles go taut in his grip and he _knows_ that she is moments away from unleashing the full extent of her wrath. But he needs to make her understand that he isn’t the monster she thinks he is.

“Please,” he says simply. “Please just tell me what I did to offend you, and what I can do to make it up to you. I’m a prince, I can give you anything you want –“

She jerks her arm out of his grasp as though he is something distinctly unclean.

“ _How dare you_ ,” the young waterbender seethes, her meticulously cultivated calm completely shattered. The look she gives him is both spiteful and contemptuous. “How could you think you could _possibly_ make it better, when you don’t even know what you’re talking about?”

“You’re right,” he counters, and she’s blinking back surprise, “I _don’t_. But if you just told me, I could try harder to make things better. I know you don’t like the firebenders, but we’re not all the same. _I’m_ not like them, I –“

“You’re _exactly_ like them,” she says harshly, “Stop fooling yourself.”

Her words cut through him with a keenness that blindsides him in its potency.

“But I’ve been nothing but kind to you since you’ve gotten here,” he points out, somewhat petulantly. “Can’t you give me a chance to make up for whatever I did?”

Her eyes flash angrily.

“If you don’t even _know_ why I’m _offended_ , as you so delicately put it, then you don’t deserve a chance,” Katara hisses. She turns away from him one last time. “I’m warning you one last time. Stay the hell away from me.”

He watches her march away furiously.

So this is what it feels like, to be hated so, he muses. He is surprised it has taken this long in life for him to experience the strangely hollow feeling of being overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time.

The brief spell of hope that had gripped him earlier is now gone, as Aang rolls up to him on a ball of whirling air.

“What was that all about?” he inquires, jumping to the ground next to him, his grey eyes not missing much in front of him.

Zuko watches the stormy waterbender recede back to the edge of the ring, where Toph engages her in a conversation about something or other.

“I don’t have a clue,” he confesses.

When Jeong-Jeong announces the end of the break and the start of another duel, he feels dread creeping over him slowly as he walks to one side of the newly-flattened turf and Katara walks to the other.

He assumes a neutral stance. His muscles, already sore from their previous duel, scream out at him in agony, and he is torn between giving his all again, or simply getting this over with. After all, the grim look on her face and murder in her eyes collectively indicate to him that this fight can only have one possible outcome –

Jeong-Jeong lowers his hand, signaling them to begin.

In a single fluid motion, Katara lunges forward, her hands moving in unison like the crests of angry tidal waves. She raises what looks like half the river over the high walls, and at once it all comes crashing down on him.

The water is merciless. It bears down on him with the weight of a thousand crushing pounds.

A blast of cold from her lips and the water turns to ice, freezing him in its grasp.

Their duel is over before it scarcely even began.

Katara glares at him with hatred in her eyes before she turns away. She doesn’t let him down.

Zuko begins to understand that he never really stood a chance.

* * *

“What’s wrong?”

It is later that evening, and Zuko has made some headway into the promise he’d made to Mai early in the morning. The platter of fruit tarts has long since been consumed, the rose petals on the covers are scattered everywhere haphazardly (it had been a last-minute, over-the-top gesture of his that had made her press a fist to her mouth in order to stifle the giggle welling up inside her), and their clothes are crumpled in a pile on the ground next to the bed. They are both covered in a sheen of sweat as they regain their breath, lying next to each other on top of the deep red covers, his arm around her narrow shoulders, her head tucked against his neck.

“What do you mean?” Zuko asks in reply, turning his face slightly to meet hers.

“You’ve been acting strangely all day,” Mai observes, her pale grey eyes shrewd.

“I have?” Confusion is written on his features now as he struggles to sit upright. “How so?”

Mai shrugs.

“You’ve been out of yourself,” she says without emphasis. “Like you have something on your mind.”

“I always have something on my mind. That’s nothing new.”

Mai opens her mouth to argue, then thinks better of it and closes her mouth instead. She shrugs impassively.

“If you say so,” she says, in that dreary voice she reserves for everyone else.

“Mai, don’t –“

“I just thought I’d ask. Nothing’s wrong. That’s fine.” Her lips twist ever so slightly, but the smile is not a happy one. “I don’t know what I’d do if something was wrong, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko apologizes, and by now the confusion has slipped off his face and been replaced with contrition. “You meant well. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

Mai shrugs again but doesn’t say anything.

He sighs and turns away from her onto his side.

“So,” she speaks suddenly, her voice casual, “you aren’t still hung up over losing to that waterbender, then?”

She watches his shoulders stiffen marginally, before he realizes he’s given himself away and relaxes again.

“Suit yourself,” she says.

He doesn’t say a word in reply. Instead, he raises a hand and extinguishes the candles lighting the room.

She shifts onto her back and stares resolutely at the ceiling.

Next to her, Zuko scowls into the darkness.

* * *

 


	4. when it rains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> katara adjusts to life in the training camp.

**disclaimer:** ATLA  & everything associated with it belongs to Bryke, nothing you recognize belongs to me.

**author's notes:** another chapter that took forever to write! apologies if this appears disjointed, i swear i'm not ignoring certain characters or rushing their development, i just want to get into the meat of the storyline already! but there's a lot of groundwork to lay, so...here we are. also, this ends on a bit of a cliffhanger so i apologize for that as well.

thank you so very much to everyone who's left kudos/comments/etc, y'all the best. xxx. please keep them coming, it keeps this fickle girl's muses faithful!

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter iv.** when it rains

* * *

_your feet's in the earth, your boots are sinking_  
_sink with the memories of long-lost thinking_  
-  
"marching song"/esben  & the witch

* * *

_Left foot. Right foot._

She moves lightly, gracefully, on the balls of her feet as she has been taught. There is a terrible ache in the arches of her feet, but she can ignore it for now. She wears her armour but is barefoot, her long dark braid swinging behind her with every leap she takes.

"Very good!" chirps Ty Lee, who has been coaching her the whole time. "Now, let's work on some of those defensive moves. Arms up!"

Obediently, Katara raises her arms, tucking her upper arms close to her body as instructed. She uses her forearms to deflect Ty Lee's precisely aimed blows, and manages to block three successfully, before she is sharply jabbed in the elbow and lets out a shriek.

Her left forearm dangles uselessly in front of her, numb and inanimate.

"Oh, that's too bad!" Ty Lee exclaims, ceasing her swift onslaught and standing before Katara apologetically. "But you managed to block me a couple of times now! That's always an improvement!"

Katara grimaces.

"If you say so," she grumbles. Her lessons at the military training base have become more and more humiliating by the day. When she isn't being fed to Toph and Aang, she is being poked and prodded at by _non-benders_ , of all people! How this is supposed to improve her own style of bending, she has no idea.

"Well, compared to when you first started, anyway," Ty Lee offers, grabbing Katara's immobilized limb and massaging some life back into it.

Katara can't disagree. Out of all the strange duels she's fought during cross-training sessions, her first one with Ty Lee was undoubtedly her worst episode by far. The bubbly girl in pink moved lightning-fast and knew the weak points of the body like the back of her hand. It hadn't taken her ten seconds to jab the waterbender in four of her major joints and completely block her chi for the rest of the day.

"It's not so bad," Ty Lee reassures her, letting go of her arm. "You took the blow well. I can already feel the pathways opening up. You should be fine after a bit of rest."

No news sounds more welcome to Katara at the moment, so she nods and mumbles a thanks before walking over to one of the low-lying stone walls and seating herself upon it. Idly, she massages her numb arm with one hand, trying to feel for the blockage and working it out.

On the training grounds, Ty Lee is now facing off against Suki, and it's a sight to behold. By now, Katara has learned that she had been a fool to underestimate the non-bending specialists at the base. Both girls squaring off before her are strong beyond reckoning, disciplined, and know how to press their advantage. Suki's fighting style is grounded and balanced, gaining power from the shifts in momentum that Katara recognizes from her own bending. Ty Lee, on the other hand, is quick as an arrow, and her acrobatic prowess makes it seem like she knows how to fly. Coupled with her knowledge of the human body, it is no wonder that she makes such a formidable opponent. Even Toph and Aang find it difficult to fight her.

But Suki, who has never relied on bending, who has always had to be quick and strong and precise, holds her own against the devil in pink with an easiness that Katara envies. Her fists are iron, her movements are sure, and when Ty Lee whirls in out of the air, Suki blocks her over, and over, and over again, until at last they are both satisfied and cease fighting in a certain draw.

_Now that was cross-training worth watching_ , Katara thinks to herself, flexing her hand experimentally. To her delight, the fingers respond infinitesimally. At least it is taking less and less time to recover from Ty Lee's attacks.

Suki leaves and walks over to where Katara sits, before leaning against the wall next to her amicably.

"How's it going?"

Katara shrugs.

"Oh, you know," she replies noncommittally, "I just can't use my arm. It'll pass, though."

"Hey, it's only one arm," Suki points out, sitting down next to Katara. There's a wry smile on her face as she wipes the sweat off her brow with her forearm.

"Still didn't do as well as you did," Katara points out, somewhat begrudgingly. "How did you get so good at fighting her?"

Suki shrugs.

"I got really good at losing to her," she explains as Ty Lee faces down Mai in the arena, "and then after a certain point, I got really good at holding her off, and then after that, I just got good at fighting her." She flashes a quick smile at Katara. "You're just on the first step there, that's all."

The sounds of metal blades whirring through the air punctuate Katara's thoughts.

In front of them, Ty Lee takes a flying leap and somersaults five times in the air in rapid succession, dodging a salvo of flying knives. She lands on one hand directly behind Mai, and jabs her in the left shoulder with a pointed toe.

Mai exhales sharply in pain and lets her right palm fly. Two whirling shurikens catch the leg of Ty Lee's pink trousers, and pin it to the ground, effectively immobilizing her.

Both girls are down for the count and a draw is called.

"Could you teach me?" Katara asks Suki tentatively. In this pit of firebenders, if she cannot trust an Earth Kingdom girl with no bending, then she can trust no one. And that leaves her more vulnerable than she wants to imagine.

"I could show you a few tricks," Suki agrees, the small smile on her face spreading. "It'll be fun." She pauses. "Besides, fighting Ty Lee is so much more satisfying when you're not paralyzed on the ground a minute in."

* * *

"…this leaves us room to assume, that, whenever they are ready, we will have in reserve a single battalion of troops waiting in line over _here_ , ready to replenish our line over _here_ if in combat it should fold back from this position _here_ all the way back to _here_ …"

The imperious captain drones on and on in the sweltering room, occasionally emphasizing his words by jabbing a long wooden pointer at various parts on a large map of the Fire Empire. Katara longs for fresh, open air, but inside the General's war tent, their strategic discussions are guarded with utmost secrecy.

It takes all her energy to not simply fall asleep where she sits. Toph, who sits on her right side, is not faring particularly well, snoring a little as she dozes listlessly in her chair.

Aang, sitting on her other side, simply looks bored, his chin resting in one hand, as he absent-mindedly bends a small air current with his other. Even though it is slightly distracting, Katara does not tell him to stop as the tiny breeze is welcoming in the stifling heat.

"Excellent proposition, Captain Shu." General Shinu nods his approval. Katara notes that at least _he_ had been paying attention, unlike everyone else in the room, who look like they would love to be elsewhere. Even the spoiled brat of a prince appears to be daydreaming across the table from her, his eyes far away and glazed over.

"Sifu Katara, what do you think?"

It takes Katara a second to realize that the General is looking at her expectantly, and so, apparently having decided to suddenly pay attention again, is everyone else in the room.

She swallows nervously.

"Perhaps Captain Shu could explain his tactics again?" she asks tentatively, in a small voice. "I couldn't quite follow what he was trying to say."

The look the General gives her is not a pleasant one, and she fights to keep herself from wilting beneath it.

"That is a very prudent suggestion," Prince Zuko speaks up suddenly, and he's straight-backed, meeting the General's eyes in earnest. "Like Sifu Katara, I too, had difficulty understanding Captain Shu's proposed strategies."

Captain Shu opens and closes his mouth as everyone around the table nods their assent.

"I…I was simply suggesting that…we keep a reserve in wait behind our main line, just in case…"

As he goes on to describe his plan in much simpler terms, Katara feels the characteristic swell of fury rise in her again.

_Who does he think he is_ , she thinks heatedly to herself, _that he can just barge in on a conversation between the General and I, and make it all okay, just because he's a prince and he says so?_

It's probably the same instinct that drove him to seek her out, that first day of cross-training, she reflects, and magnanimously proclaim his penitence, when he hadn't the faintest idea _what_ he was apologizing for. An angry flush rises to her cheeks as she contemplates the arrogance of it, the thought that she _owed_ him her forgiveness just because he was a prince who deigned to _care_ what the peasants thought of him.

Across from her, Prince Zuko shifts his eyes from the General's face, and she catches him watching her, intent on trying to meet her gaze.

She turns her head away instead.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him slump a little.

* * *

"The first step to mastering the blades," says Mai, "is to master yourself."

Katara cannot deny that she has dreaded going head-to-head with the gloomy Fire Nation noble. The prince's girlfriend has a gravitas about her that even the prince himself lacks, something forbidding and unapproachable, that gives reason for pause and caution before engaging. It has less to do with the dozens of concealed knives on her person that she can use expertly, within the blink of an eye, and more to do with the imperturbable set of her regal face and colourless eyes. She is altogether unsettling, and that admission in itself is the highest praise Katara can give anyone.

Nonetheless, she isn't about to back down from this girl. After all, if she's willingly chosen to date the Fire Prince, then there must be a part of her that's quite stupid.

She just needs to find it, draw it out during battle, and _exploit it_.

Mai pulls a stiletto from her sleeve and throws it carelessly. It buries itself into the middle of Chan's topknot, quivering slightly as it lands.

" _Hey_!" Katara hears him protest, as he claps a hand to his topknot and whirls around in fury. " _What was that for_?"

Mai shrugs impassively.

"Because you're annoying and I don't like you," she answers coolly.

Chan realizes that it's _Mai_ he's talking to, swallows whatever further gripe he was going to make, and instead, occupies himself with fishing the small blade out of his hair.

Katara swears there is a very small smile on Mai's lips.

"It didn't even cut his hair," she continues, her voice bored. "I don't know why he's so angry."

"It didn't?" Katara takes a closer look, only to see that Mai is right. Her eyes widen. " _How_ did you do that?"

Mai shrugs again.

"Balance and precision," she says, "are two things you have to learn before you can start throwing things around."

For the rest of their time together, she has Katara practicing how to stand on one foot properly.

* * *

Every day, she spars with Suki in the woods behind the encampment. At first, the warrior from Kyoshi Island overpowers her easily. Katara may be a master of her element, but she now realizes that her prowess in hand-to-hand combat is lamentably limited. It makes her especially susceptible against the earthbenders, whose bending is characterized by their rooted stance and strength.

"I'll go slow," Suki says at last, holding out a hand to the fallen waterbender sprawled out on the ground before her. "That way, you can pick up the technique first. Speed can always come later."

* * *

Fighting Aang is a tricky ordeal, she has come to realize by her third or fourth duel with him. At least when she had fought him alongside Toph, he and Toph had been preoccupied with each other, turning the brunt of their strikes upon each other.

Now, there is no distraction and she finds herself subject to an onslaught of lightning-fast strikes.

She fights to dodge, to stay one step ahead. But her opponent is swift, like air itself.

* * *

Toph presents the most formidable foe, Katara concludes after her first month of regular cross-training sessions. Not only is she a flawless master of her own element, she is deceptively powerful physically and is keenly aware of the motions of the world around her – a fact belied by her slender frame and unseeing eyes. By now, Katara has deduced that Toph has some sort of seismic sense, an ability to perceive her surroundings by feeling the vibrations of the earth. It certainly explains why she has greater difficulty fighting opponents who are quicker and lighter on their feet, like Aang and Ty Lee.

Seeing with earthbending. Katara has never heard of bending being used in such a manner, but she cannot deny its obvious advantages. She wonders how such a technique could be applied to her own abilities.

* * *

The firebenders continue to be the greatest thorn in her side. The stupid ones who'd taunted her from the first day maintain their arrogant swagger in her presence. She is convinced that a couple of them were the ones who'd spied on her while bathing, and she catches them giving her significant, insolent stares.

Even worse is the prince, who seems to think that putting on a show of long-suffering penitence is the way back into her good graces. He doesn't talk to her anymore, perhaps finally respecting her demand for him to stay away, but he is subtly devious in other ways. He agrees with the others when they compliment her skills and how quickly she's had to learn in order to keep up with everyone. He tells off the other firebenders when they're giving her a headache. He quietly speaks in support of her whenever she says something controversial in war meetings.

And always, his eyes, cautiously watching her. Even when he thinks she isn't looking. It drives her mad.

* * *

At least she can count on repeatedly defeating him in their cross-training bouts. Her attacks have decreased in their savagery since, mainly because he's stopped trying to win.

* * *

It is a cool, dewy morning when Master Jeong-Jeong assembles them all, just before the crack of dawn. In the crisp morning air, Katara's breath fogs before her as she shivers and lets out a yawn. She is wearing her frayed old robe, hugging it as close to her body as she can to keep warm.

"Why did you do that? I'm not that cold," Mai, who is sitting in front of her, is complaining to Prince Zuko, who has conjured up a roaring yellow flame to light a torch for heat.

"Well, if you don't want it, give it to someone who does," he answers gruffly, shoving the handle of the torch into Mai's hand. He crosses his arms across his chest and looks straight ahead.

From where she sits, Katara thinks he looks somewhat put out.

With a roll of her eyes, Mai turns around and passes the torch to Ty Lee.

"Thanks! I'm _freezing_! How are you not cold, Mai?"

"Because I actually wear clothes," comes Mai's sardonic reply before she turns her back on them and crosses _her_ arms too.

"Yikes! Everyone's in _such_ a bad mood today!" Ty Lee exclaims, wide-eyed. She turns to Katara, who is sitting beside her, and offers the torch, which Katara reluctantly accepts. The warmth is welcoming in the chill air.

"Mornings," Suki, who is sitting on Katara's other side, explains wryly, putting a hand out by the flame. " _No one_ is happy to be up at this hour."

"I'll say," Katara mutters. As a waterbender, she is most alive in the dead of the night, when the moon is full and tugs on the chi in her body. Running on Fire Nation hours, which maximize time spent under the sun, has been a long and exhausting adjustment for her.

At that moment, Jeong-Jeong clears his throat and raises his hand. Almost instantly, the lot of them go silent.

"Thank you," he says in his deep voice. "You may be wondering why you have been summoned here, all of you, so early in the morning."

Katara takes a quick peek at the group gathered with her. She notices that it's everyone who has been involved in the cross-training exercises, and that the commanding officers of the military, such as General Shu, are conspicuously absent.

"What we are gathered here to discuss," Jeong-Jeong continues in measured tones, "is a matter of utmost secrecy. The observant among you have perhaps guessed as to its nature, and wondered to yourselves about the change in the Fire Empire that is to come. You are the select few that we have hand-picked to prepare for this, to be ready and lead us into a new era. But be warned. This is a test of the acutest kind. What you do is not for glory or reward, but for loyalty to your countrymen and to the Empire itself."

_Oh great_ , Katara thinks darkly to herself.

"Where is General Shu?" Prince Zuko asks, his voice raspy in the morning air. "Why is he not here with you, Master Jeong-Jeong?"

He receives a piercing look from the old Master in reply.

"He is not here," Jeong-Jeong replies slowly, "because even he is not aware of the true purpose of this…exercise."

Suddenly, Katara remembers her briefing from the first day, so many weeks ago now. General Shu had said their training was for _attack_ _development_. She'd thought Master Jeong-Jeong had clarified as much, but…but…

Jeong-Jeong steeples his fingers together in front of him. In the rising sunlight, his old, scarred face appears carved from stone.

"Tell me," he says softly, "what do you know about the legend of the Avatar?"

* * *

 


	5. it pours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeong-Jeong tells a story. Katara and Zuko get into a fight.

**disclaimer:** Bryke own all. I own nothing.

**author's notes:** this one's short, and takes off immediately where last chapter ended. the confrontation in the second half of this chapter is one that's been in the making since chapter 1, but i apologize for it all the same.

thank you very much to everyone who's been reviewing and following! you make my day and keep me going when things become difficult to write!

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter v.** it pours

* * *

_oh he drove all his days just to hold one against her_  
_and then he rode to her house in the dead of the winter_  
_why not me_

"when i go"/emancipator

* * *

"The legend goes that eons ago, when the world was still young and spirits roamed the lands freely with us, there existed the Avatar. In a time when the bending of one element alone was a benediction of the great lion-turtles, the Avatar was gifted with mastery of all four. He – or she – was tasked with restoring balance to the world and acting as the bridge between our world and the spirit realm. Every generation, one of the four great nations – the Water Tribes, the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation, and the Air Nomads – would be born into the Avatar cycle. Thus the Avatar endured, and peace and balance remained in this world for an age."

"The Avatar had one weakness. He or she could enter a state of absolute power – and absolute vulnerability. For it came to pass that the Avatar was struck down while in this state, and was never reborn into the world again. And thus the line of Avatars was ended, the bridge between worlds broken, and the world fell into chaos."

"In the ages that followed, many awaited the return of this great spirit. Spiritual masters beyond count traveled to the spirit realms in hopes of finding the Avatar resting there. It has all been in vain. The Avatar has never returned and our world has never been the same."

"Certain individuals within our great empire do not see this as a great loss. Certain individuals would rather burn their enemies to the ground to consolidate their apparent power, and all the better without the interference of the Avatar. These individuals are misguided. There is no power to be gained by razing those who share this world with us, no more than there is by cutting off your own hand. These misguided decisions have driven us to the sorry place we stand today. And now it is time for us to reckon with them."

"No longer will we stand by waiting for a beacon of lost hope while the world crumbles around us. We will take the fate of the world into our own hands, and we will do it together. If the Avatar cannot come to us, then we shall have to make do with one of our own making."

Jeong-Jeong pauses to gaze levelly at the stunned audience seated before him.

"And thus, our objective. Creating the most powerful bending offensive in military history. Four separate benders, a master of every element, who fight together as though they are one."

"Sifu Aang. Sifu Toph. Sifu Katara," he says, meeting each of their eyes in turn as he announces their names. "And Prince Zuko. Welcome to Team Avatar."

* * *

"This is a joke!" Katara gripes to Toph as they make their way back to their shared room. " _Team Avatar?_ _That's_ what cross-training is all about? I almost liked it better when I thought we were just making up new moves for the army!"

Toph shrugs.

"Makes no difference to me, Sugar Queen. What's the big deal?"

"The _deal_?" Katara struggles to contain herself. "The _deal_ , Toph, is that now the Fire Empire wants to _own us_ , just us, to make us become the most dangerous power the world has ever seen since this Avatar person died! Doesn't that – I don't know – seem like a _really bad idea_?"

"They already own us," Toph retorts blithely. "I don't see the problem."

"Oh, of course. No problem at all," Katara scoffs. She twists the ends of her long braid through her fingers. "Let's just take the most aggressive, bloodthirsty nation in recent history, one that's successfully conquered every other nation out there in the most _brutal_ ways imaginable, and _give them a superbender that can single-handedly take out any enemy!_ I'm sure what the world _needs_ for peace and balance right now is to give the all-powerful Fire Empire yet _another_ unfair advantage!"

"I think you're exaggerating a little bit," Toph says calmly. "I know you don't like the firebenders, Katara, but we're part of the army too, whether you like it or not, so – "

" _Of course_ I don't like them!" Katara bursts out angrily, balling her hands into fists. "But how could I expect _you_ to understand? You're just a little rich girl from the Earth Kingdom territories, the Fire Empire never hurt you _or_ your family, you couldn't _possibly_ know –"

Toph's mouth presses into a thin line.

"I can't deal with you right now," she says flatly. "You sound hysterical. When you're done with your sob story, you know where to find me."

And without another word, she walks away, her face dark.

Katara lets out a scream of frustration.

_Nobody understands it_ , she thinks to herself despairingly. _How can they be so accepting of everything the Empire has done? Even if they weren't as vicious as they were with us, doesn't_ anyone _want to be free? Is it everyone but me who's happy to be a prisoner of the Empire? How come I'm the only one who sees it?_

For the thousandth time, she longs for Sokka. He may have been light-hearted and sardonic by nature, but blood was blood and he would have taken her side.

She wishes he was here right now. Maybe more people would take her misgivings seriously if he'd been here to lend his voice to hers.

_You mean you guys_ seriously _think siding with the firebenders is a good idea?_ He'd say, in that skeptical voice of his. _The freaky, fireball-flinging maniacs who invaded your lands, destroyed your homes, and killed your soldiers because they thought it'd be fun? Suuuure…sounds like a great way to stay alive!_

She has no doubt that he'd be well liked if he was here. He was a strong fighter, perhaps lacking the formal training that the ones here had, but he had a strategic mind and a natural charisma that drew people to him. It was the reason they had survived the polar wars of their childhood, and everything after. It was the reason she was alive today.

It was also the reason he was no longer with her.

"Katara?"

She closes her eyes shut in frustration.

_Not you_ , she despairs silently.

She hears him take an uncertain step forward.

"Look," he continues tentatively, "I know I'm the last person you want to hear from –"

_That's right_ , Katara interjects heatedly in her mind.

" – and I've been trying to respect that, but – but I figure, since after what Master Jeong-Jeong said, we'll be working together a lot more because of this Avatar stuff –"

She clenches her fists at her sides.

" – so – can't we just _try_ to get along? I said I was sorry, before, for whatever I've done to hurt you, and I meant it, and I've been _trying_ to make it up to you, only it doesn't seem to be working, and if you could help me understand what I'm doing wrong…"

His voice trails off and she can hear him swallow as he gathers his thoughts.

"…I don't know what I did to make you _hate_ me," he says at last. "I don't hate you."

Her eyes snap open and she whirls on him like the element she controls. Her fury from Jeong-Jeong's debrief only amplifies the usual fiery tumult of emotion that engulfs her whenever the fire prince is near her.

"Well, aren't I a lucky one!" she quips at him sarcastically, her face breaking into a sardonic smile laced with derision. "Fire Prince Zuko doesn't hate me! I suppose I can just go back to my room now and forget everything that's ever happened!"

"What _has_ happened?" Zuko asks her, and he sounds like he's begging now, and it makes her even angrier at him – how _dare_ he play the victim when it's _him_ , _him_ and his people, who are responsible? "That's all I want to know."

"Oh, you mean you don't know?" She knows she should try to calm herself but it's too much, rage and indignity and grief all pound in a frenzy inside her chest and she can't contain it anymore. "You don't know what the Empire did to my people? At all?"

She watches him startle, open and close his mouth in confusion. Whatever he expected, it probably wasn't _that_.

"You have _no idea_ what this war has done to me, to me _personally_. But why don't you take a guess, _Prince_ Zuko? Why don't you _guess_ why I hate you, and everything to do with you and your kind?"

He just stands in front of her, stunned. At first he looks surprised, and then to her annoyance, he begins to look hurt.

"You're putting that on _me_?" he demands incredulously, and she hears his voice shake. "That's not _fair_. I'm – I was only a _child_ during the polar wars –"

" _So was I_." Her voice is like a knife thrust. "Wish that excused _me_ from being affected."

" – I – I didn't have anything to do with the politics of that time!" he continues to protest. "Those decisions were all made by my father, _against_ the Emperor's wishes!"

"Oh, so it was only Daddy that had it in for the waterbenders!" Katara crows mockingly, her lip curling with disgust. "That's great to know! Hey, you know what, I'll just march back to my village and tell them, _hey everyone, guess what! Grandpa Azulon wanted to treat us nicely like he did with the earthbenders. Except not really because he didn't do a thing when little psychotic Ozai acted out of turn and –_ " she cocks her head to the side and stares at him insolently, her face deadly serious, " – except, well, I _can't_ , because my home was destroyed, and my culture is _dead_ , and most of my people are missing or _gone_ and I'll probably never see them again. So _thanks for that_."

Her words hang in the air.

Zuko looks stricken. His mouth moves but he struggles to find the right thing to say.

"I'm so sor –"

" _No_ ," Katara barrels over his feeble apologies. "No, don't you dare. You're not entitled to my forgiveness. _None of you are_."

"But you're blaming me for something I had no control over!" Zuko protests, his voice rising as finally, his resolve begins to break. "Do you think I _like_ what my father did? Do you think I _want_ to be his son?"

"Well, why wouldn't you? _I'd_ trade places with you if I could –"

"Stop it."

"- it must be nice being rich and powerful and –"

"Don't –"

" – oh, I don't know, _having parents that are actually around_ –"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Zuko warns, his voice now as loud as hers. "Whatever my family did to you was horrible and wrong. But blaming _me_ for it isn't fair, and it isn't going to help you!"

"How about you let _me_ be the one who decides that?" Katara snaps.

" _Fine_!" Zuko marches right up to her, his temper flaring. "What do you want from me, then? How can I make it up to you?"

Katara doesn't even hide her bark of laughter.

" _Make it up_?" she repeats savagely. Instead of shrinking from him, she steps forward so that her face is only inches away from his. "How about you go to the South Pole, rebuild my village, give me back my childhood, and _bring my parents back from the dead?_ And if you can't do that, then maybe you can think of something just as good, because _until then_ , Prince Zuko, I'm in _no mood_ for useless, empty apologies from the son of a _monster_!"

Zuko doesn't breathe for a moment. Maybe two.

Katara's glare makes it clear that she wishes him dead.

Then she turns on her heel and stalks away in a fury.

Twin flares of yellow fire erupt from his nostrils as he finally lets out a frustrated growl.

" _I'm not like him_!" he shouts angrily after her retreating figure. " _I'm not like him at all_!"

But his words fall upon deaf ears.

_She doesn't know me_ , Zuko tells himself, trying not to let her words hurt more than they should. _She doesn't know a thing about me._

"I'm done," he whispers to himself. "There's just no point, she - she's _crazy_ , and I'm _done with her_."

* * *

**author's notes:** did i ever mention this fic was a slowburn? lol. so this is the end of sadpuppy!zuko, and the relationship between him and katara will be shifting in future chapters (though initially, probably not in the direction many of you dear readers would like..)

in my defense, katara and zuko _did_ fight a lot in the show before they became friends, so this is not horribly ooc for her, given the shitty circumstances.

please review! they are like cookies and a glass of cold milk!

xoxox


	6. the cold in you

**disclaimer.** ATLA  & anything you recognize are property of bryke. imitation is just a sincere form of flattery.

**author's notes.**  apologies for the long update time! things at work have been shitty and crazy, and makes it difficult to find time for amateur fanfic writing time! nonetheless, i've been churning this one out slowly, and i found it really difficult to write. mainly, i used to find it really easy to write angsty bits back int he day, but now, not so much... anyway...

thank you so much to everyone who's been commenting and kudosing and following the story so far! i promise, just because updates have slowed down a bit, doesn't mean i'm giving up on this story! i'm so excited for what's coming up, and so incredibly grateful for all of your support! please keep it up! 

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter vi.** the cold in you

* * *

_there must be something terribly wrong with me_  
_sometimes i feel like i haven’t learned anything_

“something’s wrong”/pretty lights

* * *

 “The first step in the training of Team Avatar,” announces Jeong-Jeong, “is to familiarize yourselves with each other’s bending styles.”

It is mid-morning the very next day and the sun is already hanging high in the sky, beaming with a ferocity that gives Katara a pounding headache. She longs for the pull of the full moon, but the nights have been dark of late.

Master Jeong-Jeong has assembled the four unlikely members of Team Avatar before him, and it is unclear which among them appears the most uncertain about the success of their endeavour. Aang is fidgeting nervously on a wide, shallow boulder. Toph is lounging casually on the ground, seated cross-legged while her fingers trail in the sparse grass. Prince Zuko is stone-faced and impassive, his arms crossed in front of him as he leans against one of the destroyed pillars ringing the arena. Katara herself is seated on one of the stone steps, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her lips pressed tightly together.

Each of them wears the same skeptical expression on their face.

“This we have been doing under the guise of cross-training,” Jeong-Jeong continues, and to his credit he doesn’t waver in the face of his unenthusiastic audience. “You will continue to fight against one other, until you have learned to anticipate each other’s movements as though they are your own.”

“Then what?” Toph queries, picking at the dirt lodged beneath her fingernails. “I already know how to fight these three. I’m _bored_.”

Katara feels her face burn at the reminder of her constant humiliation when losing to the earthbender.

“That is unfortunate, Sifu Toph,” Jeong-Jeong comments, his face hardening into its usual stern countenance. “The purpose of this exercise is not to entertain you, however, it is to test you in ways you have not yet discovered. Until the others have developed their skills to rival your own, it will not be safe to progress to the next phase of our plan.” His mouth twists into a tiny, sardonic smile. “I suggest for your sake, you work _with_ your teammates and help them as much as you can.”

For once, Toph looks thunderstruck, and has nothing to say in return.

Katara can’t help but smirk a little.

“What _is_ the next phase of the plan?” Prince Zuko asks suddenly, and the smirk slips from Katara’s face at the sound of his voice.

“That is strictly need-to-know information,” Jeong-Jeong replies vaguely.

“Well, don’t we need to know eventually?” Zuko persists, now beginning to sound slightly annoyed. “Why can’t you tell us now so that at least we know what we’re working toward?”

“What does it matter?” Katara shoots back witheringly. “The Fire Empire won’t tell us their plans and they won’t leave us alone until we do what they want, so we might as well turn our brains off and get on with it.”

To her surprise, Zuko scowls at her before turning his head back to face the firebending master.

Her breath hitches in her chest and her heart begins to pound unexpectedly. She’s never quite been _frightened_ of the fire prince before, but there’s no denying that with his father’s features, long unkempt hair, and angry red scar, he can appear quite formidable sometimes.

“ _Respect_ and _cooperation_ are two of the skills both of you may wish to consider improving,” Jeong-Jeong says at length, and his tone is disapproving. “You will not progress far until you learn both.”

Katara crosses her arms, but says nothing. The prince too remains broodingly silent.

Jeong-Jeong first calls on Toph and Aang to square off against each other on the arena, and they oblige without much fuss. Katara thinks they are a bit too evenly matched at times, with Aang’s lightness and speed balancing neatly against Toph’s supersensory perception and brute strength.

This time around, however, Jeong-Jeong has barely called for them to start before Toph plants her foot into the rocks beneath her.

Aang doesn’t have a moment to react as she raises both fists in front of her and _kicks_ a pillar of earth straight into his sternum. He flies back six feet and lands in the dirt, completely winded.

Toph wipes her hands against the front of her cotton tunic and walks away from her fallen adversary.

Jeong-Jeong sighs and shakes his head slightly, before motioning for the other two to take the floor. The set of his shoulders suggests that he has already resigned himself to the sheer futility of their exercise.

_Why do they even bother making me fight him_? Katara wonders to herself, making her way to where Toph had stood. _He never even tries to win anymore. Pathetic._

Across from her, Zuko is exhaling slowly. A steady stream of flame trickles from his nostrils.

She uncorks her skins and settles into a neutral starting position, as she usually does.

He closes his eyes and clenches his fists at the ready.

She inhales and feels for the water available to her. In her waterskins, by the river, in the air, if she’s desperate enough…

“ _Begin_ ,” commands Jeong-Jeong.

With a fluid motion of her wrist, Katara pulls the water from her skins into her grasp and forms it into a solid whip.

A roar greets her ears and she looks up just in time to see the giant plume of flame that Zuko’s bent at her.

She jumps out of the way in time, unburned. But her water whip’s disintegrated.

_Shit_.

She pulls at the tendrils of water, trying to reform her whip, but in front of her, Zuko is throwing fist after fist of furious flames at her with reckless abandon. He has her on the defensive soon enough, gaining ground as she retreats from him.

_Think, Katara, think_. Katara’s water whip is now a sorry-looking puddle on the ground by her feet, and she is assuming defensive maneuvers, as the firebender before her channels all his fury through the fire emanating from his fists and his feet. Every time she tries to bend her water back at him, he shoots at her with a bigger blast, preventing her from retaliating.

She needs more water, and she needs it _fast_.

Pressing his advantage, Zuko clasps his hands together and channels a ferocious wave of fire at his opponent. Katara jumps backward once, twice, before somersaulting backward into the river to evade the swift ingress of the inferno.

The surface of the water envelops her as she lands, lightly surfing away from the riverbank, and in a trice, she has raised a colossal tidal wave in front of her. She pushes forward and douses Zuko’s wall of fire with some effort.

He stumbles backward, and she leaps back from the river onto solid ground. Water twines around both her arms like giant unnatural sleeves, spanning the length of the shoreline, and it’s all at her call.

This time when Zuko lets out another yell and claps a stream of fire at her, she is able to counter with a long, heavy sleeve of water. An almighty cloud of steam erupts from where their forces make contact and for a moment, both are blinded.

Seizing her chance, Katara bends the clouds of steam away from her, barreling toward her opponent with deadly purpose. A rotation of her wrists, and suddenly Zuko’s entire body is coiled in water, pulling him off-balance, and she flexes her wrist, dragging him along the surface of the ground.

In response, he kicks both his legs up, struggling to break free of the watery prison. She lets out an icy breath of air and the water surrounding him freezes. He lets out a cry as the ice burns his skin.

She _pulls_ harder, and the icy coil around him tightens, crushing his legs, his chest, his neck…

He knows she has him and that she’s coming in for the kill, and he has to react _fast._ Throwing his head back and sucking in a sharp lungful of air through the vice grip on his throat, he lets out a colossal roar.

Flames erupt from his mouth, surrounding him, singeing his clothes, his skin, his hair, melting the waterbender’s icy coils to clouds of vapour in an instant.

Katara swears loudly, and pulls the remaining water around her in a ring. She raises her hands and tongues of water dance before her like a strange, many-tentacled octopus.

Before she can strike, Zuko’s legs slice upward in a spinning scissor kick. He braces himself on his hands, using the greater power in his legs to channel a ferocious blast toward his adversary.

She has no time to jump out of the way; instead she coats herself in her water, drops to the ground, and rolls out of the way. The heat from the fire, though somewhat dissipated by the water surrounding her, still burns to the touch, and she lets out a scream in turn.

As she lies facedown on the ground, panting for breath, the feeling of fire on her body sends her mind spiraling out of control, even as her heartbeat skyrockets and adrenaline races through her veins.

_Run_ , her father had told her and Sokka, a hand clamped to the damp crimson spot on the side of his armour. _Run and stay low and don’t look back_.

A burst of fire hurtles toward her head, and she only rolls out of the way in time before it explodes right above the spot where she had just been.

_Never let them see your gift, Katara_ , her grandmother whispered to her, caressing her hair and face with strong, sure hands. _Firebenders hate waterbenders, our kind are their natural enemies. They would kill you where you stand if they ever found out._

Another blast and Katara barely rolls out of the way in time. She avoids the worst of it, but even now, she feels hot embers smouldering away on her neck and shoulder and along the length of her arm.

She looks up and Zuko is lunging at her, his arms bent into an offensive stance, his face twisted and hard and completely devoid of anything human.

_He wants to kill me_ , Katara thinks to herself numbly, and in that moment, she believes it.

“What, no comebacks today?” Zuko yells at her tauntingly. “Waiting for me to become the monster you think I am?”

He _is_ a monster, Katara realizes, and it’s as though she sees him in slow-motion. He is a monster, just like all the other firebenders before him, and if she doesn’t stop him, _end_ him, he will do exactly what the others did to her.

_And I swore I’d never let another firebender touch me ever again._

Zuko is attacking her with everything he has, bending wave after wave of angry red fire in her direction, and it’s all she can do to stay low and roll out of the way. The burn on her arm worsens, and the back of her tunic is charred to a crisp.

“Are you satisfied now?” Zuko roars at her, slicing at the air in front of him and setting the ground before him ablaze. “ _Is this what you want me to be?_ ”

She feels the oncoming flames rushing toward her, and throws up a wall of water to counter it just in time. The resulting cloud of steam crackles loudly in the air, and she feels its tiny pellets of condensate prick at her skin as she slowly raises her head.

The Fire Prince walks through the flames licking the ground beneath his feet.

_Get up, Katara. Get up, get up, get up_.

She scrabbles at the ground, fighting for purchase, pulling handfuls of grass into her fists as she watches him approach her, a single fireball hovering by his right palm.

Katara struggles to her feet, grasps at whatever water is left to her, and snaps at him with the whip in her hand.

In a trice, the little ball of fire in his hand expands until it’s _huge_ , bigger than the both of them. The force of it knocks her back and she lands on her bottom, palms of her hands scraping along the ground.

Her eyes widen as she stares at the maelstrom swelling before her, and though every part of her desperately wants to get up and fight back, her body is stiff and aching and burned in about twelve places, and she has no water left, and her heart is positively _humming_ , it’s thudding so fast, and she’s shaking as she knows she’s going to die here, he’s going to _kill_ her –

His hands twitch and that’s it, she knows it’s over, and out of instinct, she covers her face with her forearms, because it’s all she can bring herself to do and she _hates_ that this is how she’s going to go –

She can _feel_ the change in the air as he lets go and the fire charges toward her, hungry for her.

But then –

“ _Enough_ ,” Jeong-Jeong’s harsh voice cuts through her thoughts.

Startled, she tentatively raises her head. The ground beside her is scorched and smoking, Prince Zuko is turned away from her, and Jeong-Jeong is approaching them, his flinty features inscrutable.

“Well done, Prince Zuko,” Jeong-Jeong commends her adversary. “You have demonstrated incredible improvement over the past months, and your victory today is proof of your skills. You should be very proud of yourself.”

Despite the old master’s praise, Zuko does not look proud in the slightest.

_Victory_.

Katara abruptly remembers, belatedly, the nature of her duel with the prince. The army, the cross-training, the Avatar project, all of it…

“Sifu Katara.”

In the heat of battle, she’d allowed herself to lose her head, and handed the fire prince his first victory over her because of it.

“Get up.”

Head bowed, limbs still shaking, and face now burning with humiliation, Katara forces herself to her feet. Her rise is unsteady and ungraceful.

“You will look at your commanding officer, Sifu Katara.”

Hesitantly, Katara raises her gaze from the ground between her toes, slowly upward to meet Jeong-Jeong’s narrowed eyes.

“Your performance today was shameful,” Jeong-Jeong tells her flatly. “You appeared distracted, slow, and in short, you were simply outclassed by your opponent. What is worse, you showed considerable fear and weakness in the face of defeat. _This is not the Fire Empire way_.”

Katara hangs her head. She wants to account for herself, but in truth, she doesn’t know what to say.

Because as much as she hates to admit it, Jeong-Jeong was right. She had been _scared_ of Zuko. A couple of fireballs in her direction and she had lost her nerve.

“In the Fire Empire, we do not shrink from battle,” Jeong-Jeong continues, with a new edge in his voice. “We will have victory, or we will _die_ fighting for it. We do not turn our tails at the first sign of trouble and hide in a corner like a little girl. I expect this sort of cowardice from a raw recruit, but from a waterbending master trained by Pakku himself?” He shakes his head slowly, closing his eyes. “You dishonour yourself.”

_Dishonour_. The word rings like a knell, damning in its finality.

“I will give you one chance to explain yourself,” he says at last, regarding Katara coldly, “one chance only, and then, I expect to never witness such a disgraceful scene from you ever again.”

He folds his arms and looks at her expectantly.

Katara _wants_ to explain herself. She can feel it on the tip of her tongue. How the uncontrolled rage in the prince’s movements, the heat of the fire on her skin, had catapulted her back, back into the cold dark stone rooms, back with her brother and her parents’ last words, and the guards who had worn the same red uniforms and bent fire carelessly, and the sickness and terror of the burnings afterward…

But what would another firebender understand of her fears?

“I see,” Jeong-Jeong says at last, as Katara’s silence draws out. He turns away from her, to face Zuko, and Toph and Aang, who had been following the fight silently on the sidelines. “This concludes today’s sessions. You will resume your regularly scheduled activities for the rest of today, and we shall continue tomorrow, where I expect to see significant improvement in _everyone’s_ behaviour. Dismissed.”

There is a strange lump growing in the back of Katara’s throat. She has to clench her fists tightly together to stop herself from shuddering outwardly, at the strength she needs to hold herself together.

She is _humiliated_ , and the burning in her cheeks somehow stings more than the dozen or so fresh wounds she sustained during her duel.

Jeong-Jeong has left the arena, and the awkward silence that ensues is almost deafening.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Prince Zuko turn to face her.

To her unending chagrin, he takes a hesitant step toward her.

She hears him take a deep breath, and cuts him off before he can get a word in.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she forces out through clenched teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. “Just _don’t_.”

“What the hell is your _problem_ , Sugar Queen?”

Katara’s eyes fly open as, to her surprise, _Toph_ of all people marches straight up toward her and sends an angry glare in her direction.

“You’re being selfish and rude and _impossible_ to work with! And it’s even interfering with your bending now!”

Katara opens and closes her mouth wordlessly, temporarily subdued by the outspoken earthbender.

“Leave it, Toph,” Zuko mutters, and Katara notices that his ears are red. He glances at her briefly with a strange, closed expression.

Then, he turns on his heel and walks back to the encampment.

He doesn’t look back at her this time.

The lump in the back of her throat grows inexplicably larger.

It hurts to breathe.

Toph whirls on her.

“Can’t you see that Sparky’s _trying_ to be nice to you, and you’re just shutting him down for no reason other than your stupid wounded _ego_!”

“My _ego_?” Katara repeats at last, finding her voice and feeling like she might fly apart into a million different pieces if she lets go of herself. “ _My_ ego has nothing to do with this! I didn’t _ask_ him to be nice, I asked him to leave me _alone_! It’s _his_ ego you should be worrying about!”

Toph lets out a harsh laugh. The sound of it is grating, like pebbles rolling against the ground.

“You should hear yourself, Sugar Queen,” she says dryly. “You sound just as obnoxious as all those stupid firebenders you claim to _hate_. Maybe you have more in common with them than you realize.”

Toph’s words hurt more than a slap across the face.

“Get the hell out of my face, Toph,” Katara spits back in a low voice. “You have _no idea_ what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Toph’s hands rest on her hips, and she turns her head to face Aang where he sits uncomfortably on the sidelines. “Going to back me up on this one, Twinkletoes?”

“I’d rather not get involved, if you don’t mind,” Aang answers politely,, raising his hands in uncertainty.

Toph rolls her sightless eyes.

“I’m beginning to think I’m not the only one who’s _blind_ around here!” she quips sarcastically, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Maybe not,” Katara replies, and to her dismay, even her _eyes_ are beginning to burn, “but if you’re going to take the _firebender’s_ side over mine, then you’re not someone I can trust in the slightest.”

“Well, that’s up to you, Madam _Fussybritches_ ,” Toph shoots back at her witheringly. “But you’re being difficult and unreasonable and _just as bad_ as the firebenders who took over your people, and it’s going to get you into a lot of trouble.”

Having said her piece, Toph too storms off.

The lump in the back of her throat is so large, her airways feel too small. She takes in a long, slow, unsteady breath and then, she falls apart.

Her body starts to shake, the tears burning in her eyes finally trickle down her face, and she lets out a single, treacherous sob.

“Katara?”

Oceans save her, she’d thought she was alone.

She covers her face with her hands, because of _all people_ , she really doesn’t want to cry in front of the naïve young monk.

“Katara, are you okay?”

A tentative hand touches her shoulder and it’s too much.

She bursts into tears, great heaving sobbing tears.

“I can’t,” she gasps, “I can’t, I can’t – I miss them and I’m scared and I’m trying but I’m not strong enough, _it’s not enough_ , it’s never enough for them…”

“Katara, listen to me.” Aang’s voice sounds different to her ears. He has always been calm and composed throughout her time of knowing him. But now his voice is a little deeper, a little more serious, and it makes him sound wise beyond his years. “I don’t know you that well, but you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I know that you must have gone through some terrible things in your past, and it must be incredibly difficult and isolating to be doing what you’re doing now. But please don’t lose hope.”

_Hope_. It’s been so long since she’s had any of it.

Aang’s goodness rankles in her gut and makes her feel ashamed of herself, for the way she’s dismissed him all this time. She tries to clear her throat, to speak, to say _thank_ _you_ or something, _anything_. But she can’t even manage that much, the lump in her throat is too big, too much to talk through, and so –

She lets out a shuddering breath, grabs at his shoulder, and cries into it.

Aang’s arms wrap around her uncertainly, but she takes solace in the comforting gesture.

“It’ll be okay,” he tells her quietly. “Whatever it is you need to do, you’ll be able to do it one day. You’ll be okay, Katara. I know you will.”


	7. our demons

**disclaimer.**  bryke owns ATLA & all affiliated property, i am just a cheap imitation who derives no tangible benefit from the writing of this work.

**author's notes.**  what's this? another update? wow it's almost like i'm hitting my stride again as the plot starts to thicken! (key words = STARTS TO).. btw, the next couple chapters are going to be zuko's POV, mainly because he's fun too and we haven't heard from him in a while.

just a reminder that this fic is rated M/mature for very specific reasons and those become evident starting in this chapter, so if fairly explicit content bothers you, i suggest giving this one a miss. also fairly prominent maiko in this chapter again, so just a heads-up if they're a NOtp for you.

immense thanks of the highest order to everyone who's reading/following/leaving such great feedback for this story! you literally make my life complete and i am so excited to read your thoughts/reactions to what's going on, knowing what's in store! you guys make writing fun again! love you & please keep it up!

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter vii.** our demons

* * *

_for a fortune he’d quit_   
_but it’s hard to admit_   
_how it ends and begins_   
_on his face is a map of the world_

“from yesterday”/30 seconds to mars

* * *

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus.

His teeth clench together, his breaths come out in ragged, harsh, uneven pants, and his fingers dig into her shoulders.

She makes a small sound, but he doesn’t register whether it’s approval or protest or a combination of the two as he thrusts into her, repeatedly, forcefully, urgently.

He wants to forget. He needs to forget.

But the tightening in his stomach has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with shame.

He’d lashed out from a place of rage so intense, he didn’t even know he was capable of it. He lost control and fought without dignity or restraint or honour.

And she had fallen and he’d stood victorious over her, and for once, she had _shut her mouth_ around him and he should have felt good because this time _he’d won_.

Only instead, he still feels like shit.

His grip on her shoulders tightens, and he knows there will be bruises later. She doesn’t mind, though. Instead she lets out a soft moan and drags her fingernails down his back.

He lets out a hiss, sucking in air sharply through his clenched teeth, and he throws his head back as he quickens his pace. Her hands grab him by the hips, as though trying to pull him in deeper.

Except, he keeps on slipping away. In his mind, the duel constantly plays on repeat, and he remembers that nothing’s changed and if he set out to teach her a lesson about himself, it had backfired horribly.

Most importantly, he remembers the way she looked when she lay breathless and crumpled on the ground before him, staring at him with fear dancing in her wide pretty blue eyes.

Her hands squeeze him, dragging him briefly back to the present. She’s beginning to convulse, trembling around him, and for a moment, he’s drawn back in, giving in to the white-hot liquid pleasure that engulfs him, that spurts out of him.

And when he opens his eyes, the skin beneath his hands is creamy white instead of nut-brown, and her bright dewy eyes are pale grey instead of blue, and the soft silky strands of hair cascading lazily over her body to cover her breasts and stomach is jet black.

He freezes on top of her, in her, wondering at his confusion.

After all, she _feared_ him. And he deserved it.

Because she was right, wasn’t she? He _is_ a monster.

And worse, he’s thinking about her, _still_ thinking about her, while he’s trying to fuck his girlfriend.

He concludes that maybe she’s starting to drive him insane, and if so, it would be the first thing they had in common.

“Earth to Zuko,” Mai says dryly, reaching out to cup his face with one hand. “Are you in there still, or did you wear yourself out again?”

He’s breathing heavily, bracing his weight on his arms, planted on either side of her face now.

“I’m here,” he gasps. His own voice sounds distant to his ears. “Sorry.”

And he collapses on top of her.

She runs her hands through his damp hair, a slight smirk playing about her lips.

“What’s up with you tonight? You’ve never been so…” she struggles to find the right word, “…so _rough_ before.”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says automatically. Half of their conversations either begin or end with him apologizing to her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” Mai retorts. “I liked it. It was… _intense_.”

“Oh,” he says. “Good.”

And he lapses into silence.

Mai looks at him searchingly for a few moments before speaking again.

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay? You’re being awfully distant.”

And the other half comprise of him trying to convince her that he’s okay. Most of the time, he’s unsuccessful.

“I’m just tired,” he tells her, and even _he_ thinks it sounds unconvincing. “That cross-training took a lot out of me.”

“Right,” Mai says skeptically. She struggles a bit, trying to judge whether to say what’s on her mind, or leave it be. Sometimes, even _she’s_ not up for a fight.

But at length, she tries to tentatively strike a middle ground.

“I heard you finally beat that waterbender.”

She _sees_ the change in him at the mere _mention_ of her. She wonders if he is even aware of it. Unlikely, though. Zuko is a stranger to everyone, but none so much as to himself. Even now, she doesn’t think he realizes, and she wonders what it spells for her and him.

All the same, she’s fond of Zuko, and being the prince’s girlfriend never hurt anyone. Even if he’s been out of touch and away from court for many years now.

“I did,” Zuko agrees at last. He isn’t proud of his accomplishment though, and his shoulders slump following his admission.

“That must have been really tough,” Mai observes cautiously, her grey eyes surveying him shrewdly.

“It was,” Zuko acknowledges. His face is oddly blank, and Mai, who can usually read him like a book, finds him uncharacteristically inscrutable.

“But you did it,” Mai points out, opting for praise. She watches him carefully, for a change in his expression. “You finally defeated her. All your training paid off. I’m proud of you, Zuko.”

_I’m not_ , he thinks to himself sullenly. And for the life of him, he can’t figure out why.

After all, Katara had rebuffed him over and over and over again. She had beaten him countless times. She had insisted that they could never wipe the slate clean. For Agni’s sake, she had even blamed _him_ for what had happened to her people, and he hadn’t been a part of it!

The girl had _no clue_ about what his views on Fire Empire militarism had cost him. What it _still_ costs him, to this day.

He knows perfectly well that he owes her _nothing_. That he has _no reason_ to concern himself over what this complete stranger thinks of him. _None_ whatsoever.

But then she’d looked at him with fear in her eyes, and he still can’t bring himself not to care, and _he doesn’t know why_.

“You proved your skills today. You’ve shown your worth. Who knows, they might even make you a master now.”

Maybe because after everything, he doesn’t want to be his father. More than anything else in this world, more than glory or prowess or inheritance of the throne, he wants that.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath for that,” Zuko mutters, trailing a finger through Mai’s long, smooth hair. “Really, it – it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Mai patiently smiles at him.

“You’re just being humble. I like that about you, but you don’t have to be – you’re the _prince_ of the Fire Empire, Zuko, you can _take_ what you want –“

“I’m not being humble about anything,” Zuko mumbles. There’s a cramping feeling in his chest, and he’s not entirely sure what it is or why it’s there, only that it seems to feel better when he speaks, so he does, and he _knows_ it isn’t what Mai wants to hear, but he says it anyway, “she didn’t fight the way she usually does, I could tell, something was off about her, if she’d given it her all, she would have won again, I didn’t deserve it…”

What he has to say is never what Mai seems to want to hear.

“Who cares about what you _deserve_ , Zuko?” she snaps at him irritably. “ _Nobody_ in this world ever gets what they deserve. You only take what you get, and you’ll get _nothing_ if you continue following in your uncle’s footsteps!”

The change in Zuko is immediate. He closes up immediately, his jaw tightening as he fights to keep himself in check.

“I think you should go,” he says to her, his voice hollow.

“Zuko, don’t be like that –“

“Don’t be like _what_ , exactly?” Zuko fires back. “Like my _uncle_ , you mean?”

Her silence following his words only ignites his anger further.

“My uncle is still the _Crown Prince_ of the Fire Empire. Perhaps you’ve forgotten to show him the respect he deserves.”

“Maybe he should _earn_ it first,” Mai returns, not about to back down from Zuko without a fight. She pushes him off of her and sits up, crossing her arms over her chest. “Otherwise, with the way he behaves, he won’t _remain_ the Crown Prince for long. Not when your _father_ is still by Fire Lord Azulon’s side.”

Zuko lands on his back, but he sits up quickly as well.

“For your information, _Fire Lord Azulon_ has had my father by his side for _years_ ,” he says scathingly. “And guess what? Uncle Iroh is _still_ his heir, not my father, which means my cousin Lu Ten is next in line, not me, so if you’re only hanging around me because you want to be the next Fire Lady, you can stop wasting your time and _leave_.”

Mai rolls her eyes, throws back the cover, and jumps out of bed, fishing for her clothes strewn around on the ground by Zuko’s bed.

“You’re an _idiot_ , Zuko,” she spits at him, the apathy in her voice masking the bitterness she feels. “You know that? A naïve little idiot. That’s something you and your uncle have in common.”

“My uncle is more a father to me than mine ever was,” Zuko replies coldly, crossing his arms as well. “I would rather be an idiot like him than a monster like my father.”

“Suit yourself,” Mai says sardonically, tying the sash around her tunic securely. She eyes him dispassionately. “The sex was fun, but you’re kind of a bummer today, Zuko. Hope you sleep off whatever it is that’s bugging you. Good night.”

And with a swish of her silks, she’s gone.

He lets out an exasperated groan and lies back down on his bed, covering his face with his hands.

It never used to be this hard before. Mai is one of his sister’s friends, he knows, and she comes from a power-hungry family, but it had never been _this_ difficult to appease her before.

Even though he knows deep down that he isn’t what she wants him to be.

But she is strong and beautiful and comes from a good, noble family, and no one can disapprove of his choice, even if she _does_ try to groom him to her preferences every now and then. And really, for a disgraced prince far from home, he doubts that he could do any better than her.

He’s lucky to have her. He really is.

But sometimes, and it’s becoming more and more often now, it’s just _so hard_ to please her. She wants so much from him, and he wants to give her everything, but he can’t, he just _can’t_ give up on the things that matter to him.

He can’t be what she needs him to be.

But he thinks he loves her anyway.

* * *

He’s called to face off against Toph the following day. Thanking his lucky stars that Jeong-Jeong had finally gained enough sense to avoid a repeat of the previous day’s drama, Zuko drags his feet as he steps into the practice arena.

Toph is cracking her knuckles opposite him, rolling her neck and shoulders in an effort to loosen up. The sound of joints cracking fills the air threateningly.

Zuko isn’t stupid. He doesn’t let his fluke victory from the day before get to his head. He knows that Toph is easily the strongest bender out of the four of them – powerful, precise, and completely without scruples. Sometimes she reminds him of his sister, except that she isn’t a complete sociopath.

But Jeong-Jeong had _said_ that in order for this gopherbear-brained scheme to work, they would have to rival each other in skill. So he resigns himself to getting his backside thoroughly dusted by the small earthbending master.

To his pleasant surprise, Toph seems willing to work with him. She doesn’t go _easy_ on him, exactly, which he appreciates, but she doesn’t try to take him out in one punch either. When she hits him, it’s jarring but not exactly painful, and she gives him time to get back to his feet and counter. On the whole, their sparring is almost fun as he learns to maneuver his bending in ways that most effectively match hers, and when she finally blasts through his defenses and knocks him to the ground, he is not displeased with his performance.

“Excellent work,” Jeong-Jeong commends them, and though his face is stern and impassive as usual, Zuko doesn’t think he’s imagining the faint hint of pride suffused throughout his features. “ _This_ is the type of cooperation and patience I want to see from you, Sifu Toph. And Prince Zuko – I am very pleased with your efforts today. It is clear that you have learned much from your opponent.”

Zuko _has_ learned a lot, he realizes with a small glow of pride. Even though he’s perfectly aware that Toph could have had him eating the dirt under her feet in less than a second, he is amazed that he lasted a good ten minutes against her this time, and had held his own respectably against her.

“Good job, Sparky,” Toph comments, holding a hand out to him, ostensibly to help pull him up from where he lies sprawled on the ground.

“Thanks, Toph,” Zuko replies, taking her hand and feeling her pull him effortlessly to his feet. “I enjoyed our fight. Thank you for working with me.”

She lets go of his hand and shrugs nonchalantly.

“Hey, it was no problem,” she says offhandedly. A small smirk crosses her mouth. “Besides, it was getting boring creaming all of you guys, and I wanted to have some fun.”

_Classic Toph_ , Zuko thinks to himself, but he doesn’t comment. After sessions and sessions of fighting with the angry waterbender, he is relieved at a lighthearted skirmish with the no-fuss Toph.

They sit together and watch Aang take on Katara. It is a much more drawn-out fight than the one between Zuko and Toph. Where the fire and earthbenders are decisive and aggressive in their fighting styles, both the air nomad and water tribeswoman are much more defensive and cautious. Aang favours evasive maneuvers while Katara bides her time and lashes out with ferocity only when her opponent draws near, which is not often.

At length, Katara’s patience pays off when Aang hesitates to follow through on his advantage. She leaps to her feet and knocks him off his air scooter with one powerful snap of her water whip. He goes down and _stays_ down.

“Well done, Sifu Katara,” Jeong-Jeong says warmly. If he had looked proud earlier, Zuko thinks, he is almost positively _beaming_ at the stoic waterbender now. “Now _this_ is a performance that befits your station. Well done.”

He turns to face Aang, who is getting to his feet and panting a little.

“Sifu Aang,” Jeong-Jeong continues, and he isn’t beaming anymore. “Your predilection for evasion and defense is starting to become a hindrance to you. Your loss to Sifu Katara is as much due to her own talents as it is to your unwillingness to attack someone you would consider a friend. Do you agree?”

Aang’s grey eyes go wide and Zuko winces inwardly. Jeong-Jeong does _not_ pull his punches, which is what makes him such an effective teacher. All the same…

“Well,” Aang replies evenly, “this is just cross-training, right? We’re not actually trying to _hurt_ each other, so I don’t see why you have a problem with me when I show restraint.”

He’s struck a nerve. Jeong-Jeong’s eyes flash and he whirls on Katara, who looks surprised at the attention.

“Extend your left arm, Sifu Katara,” Jeong-Jeong commands brusquely.

“Sir?”

“I told you to extend your left arm, and you will do so.”

Confused, Katara obliges. In the distance, her arm appears deceptively slim, for something that harnesses such powerful bending.

“Please remove your bindings.”

She obeys, unwinding the clean white linen strips that wrap her arm from palm to elbow.

“What are those?” Jeong-Jeong asks, pointing to a series of shiny red welts traversing the length of the waterbender’s forearm.

Something that feels horribly close to guilt pools in Zuko’s stomach as Katara’s face darkens.

“Burns, Master Jeong-Jeong.”

“And how did you sustain those burns, Sifu Katara?”

Katara’s lips press into a thin line, but when she answers, her voice is perfectly steady.

“From cross-training yesterday.”

“And were they acquired accidentally?” Jeong-Jeong presses.

“No,” Katara answers flatly. She doesn’t face Zuko, doesn’t even search for him out of the corner of her eye. “No, they weren’t accidental.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” Katara pauses, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, “because I fought with everything I had, and so did he.”

He feels like the bottom of his stomach has dropped out.

It would have sounded like praise if the look on her face hadn’t resembled murder.

“Thank you,” Jeong-Jeong acknowledges her words with a short nod. “You may rebind your bandages now. I would also recommend stopping by the medic’s tent afterward. They will have several salves to help heal those burns properly.”

Katara nods her head and quietly winds the linen cloth around her arm. Her face is impassive.

“Cross-training is not meant to be a comfortable experience, Sifu Aang,” Jeong-Jeong says, his voice cold. “It is meant to test you, to challenge you, to prevent you from falling into the predictable habits of your learned bending style. You will only derive from it what you put into it. Katara, for all that she is a waterbender, has learned to fight with fire in her heart. You need only look at her burns to understand that despite the calm and soothing nature of the element she controls, she does not fight _gently_. She will abandon caution and surrender herself to pure instinct if it is necessary to finish her opponent. She will fight to the death, if she wishes. It is this drive of hers, one _very_ rare to waterbending, that will lead her to victory.”

“Sorry,” Aang says quietly, head lowered in deference, “but I disagree.”

_Everyone_ looks at him as though he’s gone insane.

“I beg your pardon?” Jeong-Jeong demands incredulously.

“I disagree,” Aang repeats, more firmly this time. “Katara is a great fighter, I’m not denying that. But everything you said about her is _wrong_. Katara _can_ be aggressive and strong when she needs to be, but it doesn’t make her a better bender. Everything you just said sounds like _weaknesses_ to me. You’re – you’re telling her to fight without caution or any regard to her own safety – how is that supposed to make her better? Won’t it just encourage her to take unnecessary risks until she becomes a danger to herself and those around her?”

“You misunderstand me, Sifu Aang,” Jeong-Jeong says in measured, ringing tones. “I am saying that in everything, there must be _balance_. Like Katara, you bend an element that is inherently calm and gentle. Unlike Zuko and Toph, who control elements that are treacherous and unyielding, you and Katara must go against the very nature of the element you bend in order to develop a more balanced bending style. In this same manner, I will never ask Toph or Zuko to fight with _more_ aggression, because I do not have to. That sort of bending comes naturally to them; they do not need to work at it. To _them_ , I may, in time, suggest exercising restraint and discipline as needed. But until you start to fight less like a predictable airbender, you will only progress so far in our training, for all that you are an exceptional master of your craft. Do you understand?”

Aang does not look happy.

“I understand,” he says, “but I don’t like it. This goes against everything the monks taught me –“

“You are no longer with the monks,” Jeong-Jeong interrupts with damning finality. He turns to leave. “Dismissed.”

“Boy, he’s in one rough mood today, huh?” Toph whispers to him.

Zuko shrugs. In truth, he privately agrees with the earthbender, but has been around long enough to know not to question Jeong-Jeong by now.

“Whatever he said is going to be for Aang’s benefit,” he answers tersely. “Though,” he adds as an afterthought, “he probably won’t appreciate it at the moment.”

“That’s for sure,” Toph remarks sarcastically. “Take yesterday, when he was all over Miss Fussybritches over there. Today, he couldn’t stop singing her praises. Maybe _you_ should try getting on his nerves tomorrow, if you’re feeling starved for attention.”

Zuko goes quiet. He figures the less he has to say about her, the better it will go for everyone.

“I don’t need any more attention,” he says quietly, getting to his feet. Aang and Katara are leaving together and he figures he can squeeze in a quick bath before suppertime.

Toph snorts.

“Oh right. I forgot you’re a prince, Sparky.”

She falls in step with him. She’s usually a brisk walker, but Zuko has his reasons for ambling along at a slow pace – specifically, remaining a respectable distance away from the waterbender and her new companion.

“That would make you the first,” Zuko says glumly, thinking of Mai and his current fight with her. Except it’s not a fight so much as they’re not speaking to each other at the moment. He contemplates the merits of forgiving her, but wonders why _she_ can’t find it in her to forgive _him_ once in a while.

Even Katara’s wrath at him is tied directly to his status as a member of the royal family.

He touches a hand to the scar on his face, briefly, gently.

“Is that supposed to make me feel special or something?” Toph retorts dryly, jamming her hands into her pockets. “Because I promise you I’m not returning the favour.”

“Don’t worry,” Zuko says darkly, “no special treatment that’s come out of me being a prince has ever been worth it.”

His hand drops from his face to his side.

Up ahead, he sees that Katara and Aang have halted in their progress. Three figures stand in front of them.

“Oh what do they want _now_?” Toph mutters to herself, rolling her sightless eyes.

“Who?”

Toph nods ahead of them.

“It’s Chan, Ruon-Jian, and Hide. She could take on the three of them combined with her eyes closed, why are they bothering with her?”

“It’s a power thing,” Zuko tells her, his mouth curling into the smallest of frowns.

Up ahead, he can see the tallest of the three – Chan, he assumes – saunter right up to Katara and place a hand on her shoulder. He’s saying something, inaudible to Zuko’s ears, but it makes Katara’s shoulders stiffen and her fists clench. The other two laugh heartily at her expense.

“Leave it, Katara,” he hears Aang say, who is slowly taking Katara by the hand and attempting to steer her away. “They’re not worth it.”

“Bad call, Twinkletoes,” Toph says in a quiet voice. “Violence is _always_ the answer.”

Zuko wants to say something, but he doesn’t have the right. Katara’s repeated outbursts have made that abundantly clear to him.

So when he closes the distance between himself and the party ahead of him, and Chan looks up and meets his eyes, he keeps his face impassive and doesn’t say a word.

“Hey _look_ , it’s her knight in shining armour!” Chan crows, pointing at Zuko and smirking. “What’re you going to do _now_ , Your _Highness_? Stand there and lecture me on the wickedness of my ways?”

Zuko _itches_ to reply, but he is _tired_ , so _tired_ of having to endure Katara’s unending rage while he tries to do the right thing. He doesn’t want to make that mistake again.

“Evening, Chan,” is all he says instead, in a voice so indifferent he may have been commenting on the weather. He doesn’t even bother addressing any of the others, or looking at her reaction, because he doesn’t care, he _can’t_ care, not now, there’s no point to any of it.

As he walks away, he hears Chan’s exclamation of amazed delight.

“ _Wow_ pole girl, even the bleeding-heart _prince_ won’t stick up for you anymore, you really _are_ on your own now, how does it feel…”

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t feel guilty. He shouldn’t feel a _thing._  

The pit of his stomach twists sharply all the same.

But he thinks he can get used to it.

* * *

 


	8. (pt. i) matters of honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zuko receives a letter bearing surprising news.

**disclaimer.** bryke owns atla  & all associated content. i am writing this for no financial gain whatsoever.

**author's notes.** another chapter! this is a bit on the short side, but is also the first half of a two-parter (the next chapter can be considered as the second "half" of this chapter). i decided to split them because there is a lot of world-building/behind-the-scenes rising action here and it was getting quite hefty. i would have loved to just post it all as one giant super-chapter, but it was getting clumsy, and it seemed more natural to just divide them. there is just a bit more exposition required before the plot can truly start to move again, so thank you patient readers for bearing with me! 

thank you so much to everyone who's following along and supporting the story! reading your feedback and watching you start to pick up on the tiny details in recent chapters makes this girl's heart SO happy! please keep it up, it truly makes all the difference when churning out new chapters.

love you all!

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter viii.** (pt i) matters of honour

* * *

_the ropes creaking, ship’s leaking, sails are on fire,_  
_and this whole bloody ship could go up like a pyre_  
_we’ve got smiles on our faces but we’ve seen this before  
_ _no telling just now what we have in store_

“æther shanty”/ abney park

* * *

The messenger hawk screeches loudly at his window.

Zuko jolts awake at the sound. It is the dead of the night, and it takes him a moment to locate the source of the noise.

Confused, he stumbles out of his bed and reaches for the scroll attached to the bird’s leg.

It is sealed shut with the red wax flame insignia of the Imperial Royal Family.

His heart pounds as, with steady fingers, he pries the hard wax from the paper surface.

He turns away from the hawk, which caws and preens its feathers restlessly, shifting its weight from one talon to the other, before seating himself at the pristine, barely-used desk in the corner of his room.

Lighting a candle quickly with a point of his finger, he unrolls the scroll, nervousness and dread mounting within him.

_"My dear nephew"_ , he reads at the top, and suddenly, relief washes over him instead.

He reads on.

_"It has been far too long since we’ve last spoken. I am sorry for that. My tour of the colony outposts took far longer than I had originally anticipated. The Empire is becoming a restless place, and diplomacy is not as effective as it once was among our subjects._

_I could regale you with stories of my time in the Earth territories, but there is news, far more pressing than the foiling of half a dozen rebellions, that I must relay to you immediately._

_As I write this, I am at home, in Caldera City. I have been here for the last four weeks, and I again apologize for not writing to you sooner. But I must let you know that the reason for my visit has not been a happy one."_

Dread, eased at first by his uncle’s steady handwriting on thick paper, mounts back into Zuko’s chest. He doesn’t dare to stop reading, though his eyes rove over the following words multiple times before he is able to understand them, fully.

_"There is no easy way to tell you this, Zuko. Your grandfather is very unwell. He has lost almost all movement of his body, and he cannot speak anymore. Though I am told his mind is fine, he is not the powerful man he used to be. He cannot speak for himself. He cannot walk, or move unassisted. He will never bend again."_

The paper drops from his fingers and flutters slowly onto the polished wooden surface of the desk.

Though it is still the middle of the night and everything is silent, a strange humming sound seems to have filled Zuko’s ears.

He sits, stunned, trying to process his uncle’s words.

His grandfather. Fire Lord Azulon. Emperor of the Fire Nation and its ever-expanding empire. The most powerful man under the sun.

Was now a _cripple_?

It beggars belief.

_"They tell me that this did not happen accidentally. They are saying that it was poison. A very specific poison, only capable of being brewed by someone with the greatest knowledge of herblore. They apprehended the chief royal healer, who they say was allegedly behind the poisoning. Apparently, he had connections to that upstart rebel group in New Ozai – a cousin of his wife, if the tales are to be believed."_

Zuko is unaware of any specific rebel group in New Ozai, and what power such a ragtag group of individuals could wield. But his knowledge of such matters is limited to whatever his uncle tells him, and lately, he has seen less and less of the man.

_"I witnessed the man’s trial, where he was found guilty of treason and attempted regicide, and sentenced to death. He burned that night."_

Zuko blinks. He has been away from court for the majority of his adolescence, and barely remembers the chief healer. Perhaps they have gone through multiple people since his time, but the healer he remembers from his early teens had been kind and compassionate, with gentle hands and a calming voice.

He cannot believe that such a man would be capable of murdering an emperor.

_"Since then, things have slowly begun to change at court. Your lord father now sits at Fire Lord Azulon’s right hand side, at all moments, and speaks with his voice. He claims that he alone can understand our father’s thoughts, that they are of the same minds regarding matters of state. Such a thing sounds unlikely to me, but deep wounds can change people. You, of all people, must understand this."_

Zuko does. His hand grazes the ridged, scarred skin on his cheek, a habit of his by now.

_"At the same time, I cannot deny that having Ozai by our father’s side has kept affairs at court stable for the time being. Neither the Fire Nation nobles, nor the ambassadors from the colonies, dare speak out of turn in his presence. His proclamations are much harsher than anything Fire Lord Azulon would have allowed…however I doubt my lord father is in any position to voice his displeasure."_

“I’ll bet,” Zuko murmurs to himself, unsettled.

Fire Lord Azulon, for all of his faults and flaws, was not a _bad_ ruler, Zuko thinks. His methods were stern but fair, and he generally ensured that subjects dwelling in the empire’s colonies were treated well. Under his rule, an uneasy peace had reigned throughout the empire.

Now, by the sounds of it, the beginnings of civil unrest had begun to rear its head – apparently starting with that rebel group in New Ozai, according to his uncle. And the _last_ person Zuko wants in charge of handling such strife is his father.

Not that he had been particularly close with his grandfather – far from it, in fact.

However, Ozai is not a patient man. This Zuko has had to learn the hard way.

_"Your lady mother sends her love_ ," his uncle continues to write. " _She looks well enough, though she hasn’t been sleeping well of late. Ever since Lord Azulon was poisoned, the tension around the palace has skyrocketed. Perhaps it is getting to her. Though the culprit has been dealt with, Ozai has declared that no member of the royal family can be too safe. He has put your mother under the strictest guard, moved her quarters to the highest tower, and polices her visitors with utmost scrutiny. Why, he even found it in himself to dismiss me, while I was having tea with her just the other day. His concern is truly staggering._

_Yet Azula goes about her duties unchecked._

_It is all very strange."_

Strange doesn’t even _begin_ to describe it, Zuko thinks to himself.

_"I intend to stay in the capital for a while longer, at least until matters settle down and I can be certain of my father’s safety. As it is, Ozai has made sure that news of our father’s weakness does not travel far beyond court. You must understand how vital that is to maintain what little fragile peace we have remaining in the empire._

_In the meantime, I request you to stay where you are, and be careful. These are dangerous times, and I will not risk putting you in harm’s way by asking you to visit."_

Indignation rises in the pit of Zuko’s stomach. _Estranged or not, I am the grandson of Emperor Azulon, and I have a duty to fulfill! If it’s safe for Azula to be there, why can’t I do the same?_

His uncle predicts his consternation, and continues with his warnings.

_"I have also written to Lu Ten with the same request. Both of you are far too valuable to me, and will be safer away from the capital. Your absences are understandable, given the circumstances. Now is not the time to be brave, my nephew."_

He lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. If his cousin Lu Ten, the son of the _Crown Prince_ and Heir Apparent, had received the same message, then he supposes he can afford to be absent. As it is, Zuko is hardly an influential presence back home. His younger sister, always clever and cunning, probably wields far more power than he can ever hope to in his life.

And the fact should have lost its power to bother him by now, and yet, it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

_"One last thing before I must leave. This may seem an abrupt turn of subject, but I am curious and wish to pick your mind about something that has been drawing my attention (and lately, the attention of several others as well)._

_You are probably aware that a Master waterbender, trained and recommended by one of my old friends, joined the Special Operations Division some months ago. Perhaps you have even met her by now, and have had the opportunity to work with her."_

Zuko’s eyes widen. Why, of _all people_ , is his uncle asking about _Katara_ , in the middle of an incredibly important missive containing explosive and damning information about the royal family? He is amazed that his uncle is even aware of her existence.

_"If so, you are probably curious as to why I would trouble to ask about her. And I do not blame you. You see, I too harboured similar doubts when I received several inquiries of a similar nature about this waterbender while at court, several of which originated from your own lord father."_

He rereads his uncle’s words over and over again, convinced he’s misread them.

But try as he might, there is no changing the apparent fact that his father, _Prince Ozai_ , had gone about court asking questions about a lowly peasant bender from the Water Tribes.

It just _doesn’t make sense_.

Katara’s hatred of his family, difficult as it is to stomach for him, makes sense to Zuko. The polar wars had been his father’s doing, and Katara had directly suffered as a result of it. That she holds _him_ personally responsible for his father’s sins is another matter altogether. Zuko doesn’t have to _like_ it in order for him to _understand_ it.

But the other way around – now _that_ is something Zuko _cannot_ understand.

His father has _never_ troubled himself with the Imperial Army. Not _once_ in the six years that he’s been here has Zuko ever heard of his father showing any interest _whatsoever_ in the state of the army. That has always been his uncle’s domain, and his father, ambitious as he is, knows not to meddle where he cannot win.

So why all of a sudden this newfound interest in Katara? Zuko doesn’t understand. She’s _nobody_. A peasant girl with nothing to her name except her incredible ability to bend. That’s earned her some respect among the Division here, Zuko knows, but it certainly doesn’t explain how or why his father even knows that she _exists_. Let alone take enough of an interest in her to _ask questions_.

Even his _uncle_ had found it unusual.

Not for the first time, Zuko wonders what his father is up to.

But it’s not his place to guess.

_"Having neither seen nor met this waterbender, I was of very little help in resolving your father’s questions about her – and there were several. I was always under the impression that Ozai had no interest in the army and its affairs – I must have been wrong. Nonetheless, I have received glowing testimonials to her skills from my old friends, and so I let him know that much, at least. However, I thought it best to let you know, so that you are prepared if your father should ever contact you for an opinion about this waterbender – though for the life of me, I don’t understand why he would be interested in her at all."_

Zuko’s brow furrows. _Well_ , he thinks dimly, _that makes two of us_.

Not that his uncle has any cause to worry. He hasn’t heard from his father in _years_.

It’s probably for the better.

_"I suppose it would not be too much to ask you for your assessment of her? I prize the word of my old friends very highly, but all the same – I would be very interested to hear your thoughts about this waterbender who has even caught my brother’s attention._

_If all goes without incident, I hope to drop by your division’s training base next. In the meantime, take care of yourself and don’t forget to practice your basics! I will see you soon, and look forward to our next game of pai sho._

_All my love,_

_Uncle Iroh"_

He places the letter onto the table once again, steeples his fingers together, and brings them to his chin.

So his grandfather is weak, his father rules all but in name, and his uncle claims that multiple high-ranking individuals at court have expressed interest in _Katara_ of all people.

“What,” Zuko murmurs to himself, reaching for a scroll of paper and a brush, “is this world coming to?” 

* * *

The following afternoon, Jeong-Jeong surprises them.

“You have all been progressing well enough,” he tells them, with a slight inclination of his head. “But you can all benefit from some extra training. With that in mind…”

He raises a hand and beckons with it.

To their surprise, Suki, Ty Lee, and Mai step into the arena.

Zuko’s heart begins to pound as Mai walks right past him without a second glance.

“Aang and Katara,” Jeong-Jeong says, “you can benefit from some extra strength training from Suki. Toph, you will fight Ty Lee and use this as an opportunity to practice fighting a more agile, and more aggressive, opponent.”

His veiled barb at Aang’s pacifist techniques does not go missed.

“Prince Zuko, you will practice precision and balance with Mai.”

Zuko sighs. _Of course_.

Jeong-Jeong has them fight in demo pairs, as usual. Zuko settles down on the edge of an overturned boulder as Katara and Suki are called to the arena. He watches as the two girls prepare themselves and hold their stances.

Jeong-Jeong gives the command and they begin to spar. Eyes focused on the spots where Katara’s strong linen-bound forearms block Suki’s fists decisively, Zuko finds himself wondering about the contents of his uncle’s letter from the night before.

On the arena, Suki leaps and punches and tries to close in on her opponent, but Katara moves with the fluidity of a crashing wave. She spins and ducks and meets Suki’s forceful throws with equal ferocity.

All her time fighting against Aang is starting to pay off, Zuko notes despite himself. She’s become faster, lighter on her feet, and that gives her a slight edge over Suki. Their clashes become faster now, as Suki’s forced to give ground to the slighter, faster fighter. Her breathing is more laboured, and both girls have a slick sheen of sweat on their faces.

At last, Suki closes in and makes a dive, gunning for Katara’s center of balance. In response, Katara whirls around and kicks her opponent squarely in the chest.

Suki flies back in a graceful arc and lands on the ground in a heap.

Katara flips her long, thick braid over her shoulder, and wipes at the short dark hairs plastered to her sweaty forehead.

Then, she walks over and helps the Kyoshi warrior up from the ground. Suki is wearing a wry expression, while Katara looks merely sheepish.

“I didn’t mean to kick you so hard there,” the waterbender can be heard saying, “are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Suki reassures her with a shrug and a grimace. She clutches a hand to a spot just below her ribcage. “It’ll leave a bruise or two for sure, though.”

“I could –“ Katara begins, but then her face closes up and she shrugs. “Never mind. Good fight, and I’m sorry again.”

“Don’t be,” Suki waves off Katara’s apologies with a wave of her hand. “You did great! Glad our training is paying off.”

Katara flashes a quick, hesitant, bright grin at Suki before she schools her face to its stoic reticence once again.

Something in Zuko’s stomach twists as he sees it, and he can’t put a finger on why.

She – she looks like a different person when she smiles.

That’s all.

He claps his hand to his forehead all the same.

_What on earth could Father want to know about her?_

He can’t stop thinking about it. His father is an utterly ruthless pragmatist, who hadn’t even troubled to inquire about his own _son_ in years.

If he knows anything about Prince Ozai, it is that the man is shrewd and calculating and not prone to emotional or sentimental judgments.

So…what could _possibly_ be the basis of his interest in Katara?

Had someone told him about her? Did she have a history or a reputation? Does she have powerful friends out there, somewhere?

As far as Zuko knows, it seems unlikely. Katara is nobody of interest. She is a phenomenally talented and hard-working waterbender, but outside of that, she has no family and no home. And even if she did, he doubts that his father could use it to any advantage.

For the Water Tribes occupied an unusual position in the composition of the Fire Empire. Unlike the Empire’s other colonies, the Tribes had not been annexed under treaty or peaceable alliances – instead, they had been the subjects of a long and brutal occupation, one that had left the chiefdoms of the North and South Poles decimated and ravaged. Instead of receiving autonomy under the empire and representation at court, as had been granted to the citizens of the former Earth Kingdom and Air Nomads, the Water Tribes had been subjected to an arduous and intensive assimilation process – _to rid them of their primitive, savage ways_ , his father had claimed at the time.

_So why is he backtracking? Why this sudden interest in a bender from a race that he’s convinced is beneath us?_

Ozai’s motives do _not_ make sense to Zuko.

His head hurts.

He knows his knowledge of the circumstances surrounding the polar wars and subsequent occupation is woefully limited. Around the time of its occurrence, he had already left court for the army, and much of what he knows has been through his uncle’s stories and tight-lipped condemnation of Ozai’s tactics.

And, now, through Katara’s unrestrained outbursts at him.

He knows that thanks to his family, she is alone in the world without parents, a home, or a semblance of her own civilization. And she has attributed that fury directly to his father, and for some reason, to himself personally.

“Toph, Ty Lee.”

As the blind earthbender struggles to take down the whirling menace in pink, a sudden thought, blinding with possibility, occurs to Zuko as Katara walks past him to sit down next to Aang.

_What if they’ve met before?_

After all, Katara had borne a surprisingly detailed knowledge of Prince Ozai and his family in the beginning. She had known who his father was, the moment he had introduced himself that fateful day.

He knows that she had been trained at a military bending academy, but what about before that?

Zuko’s brow furrows as he stares searchingly at the enigmatic waterbender, now talking grimly to Aang, who appears somewhat sullen.

He knows that she lost family during the invasion of the Tribes, which had occurred maybe five, six years prior? He had been thirteen at the time; he remembers that with startling clarity.

And then she had said she’d been at the military academy for less than a year, hadn’t she? Way back in the beginning, when Jeong-Jeong had been stupefied at the speed with which she had mastered her element…

“So what were you up to in the meantime?” Zuko murmurs under his breath.

Katara’s back stiffens, as though she can feel his eyes on her, and she tosses a cool, dispassionate glance in his direction.

He averts his gaze as she turns away from him. 

It is not outside the realm of possibility, he concludes. And Agni help her if she ever _had_ met his father.

Zuko realizes that he has a lot – _a lot_ – to discuss with Uncle Iroh, whenever he sees him next.

* * *

  **author's notes.** part ii of this chapter should be up later this week. cheers!


	9. (pt. ii) matters of pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the fire empire celebrates a day of victory.

**disclaimer.** atla & all associated content is property of bryke, and i am writing this for no financial gain whatsoever.

**author's notes.** i know, i know, i said i'd have this up in a week. i'm awful. work has been a giant pile of suck and this chapter kept rewriting itself. what can i say.

thank you so much to everyone who's following this story and leaving your feedback, you really keep me going.

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter ix.** (pt ii) matters of pride

* * *

_it’s not the words that make it final_  
_you’ve said such things before to rival them  
_ _but it’s how you say them now that’s changed_

“happier”/a fine frenzy

* * *

They are excused from their duties on the first day of the turn of the season.

By now, the scorching heat of the summer has passed, the air is crisp and fragrant, and the trees start to blush in hues of reds and pale yellows. The days have grown shorter, and they now eat their evening meals around large bonfires, lest a mishap occur in the dark.

It is a strange time of year for the firebenders to celebrate, and yet, on an unremarkable autumn day such as this one, Zuko’s great-grandfather had led his nation on the path to glory.

Ninety-nine years ago to the day, a comet had streaked across the sky with the intensity of a second burning sun. Sozin – then merely _Fire Lord_ Sozin – had harnessed its power and launched a successful conquest that had brought all four nations to their knees before his throne.

_Ninety-nine years ago to the day that the world nearly ended_ , Zuko reflects with some bitterness. For it had originally been Sozin’s plan to raze the world beyond his nation’s borders to the ground, and rebuild a greater empire from the ashes. Only through the counsel of his wisest and oldest friend, the legendary General Roku, had Sozin been persuaded to abandon the bloody stalemate into which his conquest had disintegrated. Roku, a legendary firebending master respected by the entire nation, had urged his childhood friend Sozin to reconsider the motives for his war, and ultimately spurred the formation of a new empire, held tenuously together by the newly assembled Imperial Court – an unexpected congress of Fire Nation royalty and ambassadors from the acquired colonies, elected to speak in their constituents’ interests, and safeguard against the descent of the throne into tyranny.

It had been a risky decision, and truly the measure by which Sozin trusted his oldest friend. For the then Fire Lord had taken his counsel to heart, and brought an end to the conquest nearly as swiftly as he had started it. Instead, the two of them ushered in an era of uncertain peace and unexpected prosperity.

And on this day, the day of the equinox, every year since then, the Empire celebrated.

They called it Conquest Day, and it was the most revered holiday in the land.

A small starburst-shaped cake, traditionally prepared to commemorate the comet that had given them their victory, is served alongside the soldiers’ usual breakfast. They sit and consume their food slowly, listening with patriotic solemnity as General Shinu delivers a rousing speech at the front of the hall.

“Always remember,” he announces with gravitas, sternly regarding the hall full of soldiers seated before him, “that _you_ are the pride of this great Empire, and with every action you take, you serve her and defend her mighty borders. Remember that this _is_ the greatest Empire that has ever existed in the history of the nations, and may it reign for another prosperous century…”

He continues on in this vein for some time, until the height of the sun in the sky indicates to them all that it is mid-morning, and they are dismissed for the day.

Zuko walks with Mai to the market in the neighbouring village. They are not alone. It is considered auspicious to buy something new for Conquest Day, and so they are accompanied by most of the encampment.

The marketplace is chaotic and noisy, with crowds of people teeming in lines at every stall, and every vendor in the vicinity shouting to advertise their wares to the general public. The smell of peppers and spices and roasting meats fills the air.

A finely-woven silk robe hanging before a textile vendor’s shop catches Mai’s eye, and she pauses by it, running her hands along the scarlet cloth. The vendor notices her attention and hurries out to greet her, and they begin to argue about the price.

Fighting a yawn, Zuko lets the sounds wash over him. He watches Mai, watches her face turn stern as she drives a hard bargain. A small part of him is grateful, grateful that they are okay again. He hates it when they fight, and try though he might, he can barely remember what their argument had even been about.

Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t worth losing Mai.

A small smile crosses his lips and she turns to him with triumphant eyes.

“Look at that one, Zuko,” she says, pointing at a crimson-and-gold velvet tunic. “It’s perfect for you!”

Who is he to refuse her suggestion? Truth be told, Zuko probably has a dozen of that exact same tunic by now, amassed over the years on special events and occasions. Nonetheless, he wordlessly picks the item off the shelf and drops a handful of gold onto the counter.

“But – but – sir, you’ve given me _too much_ –“ stammers the shopkeeper, scrabbling to make change.

Zuko waves him off.

“Don’t worry about it. Happy Conquest Day.”

He may practically be an exile, but he’s still a _prince_.

Sometimes, it takes a little generosity to remind him of that.

“Was that really necessary?” Mai asks dryly as they walk away with their new purchases.

Zuko shrugs.

“Someone had to compensate him after the way you ripped him off,” he replies lightly, his lips still slightly curled in amusement.

“I did _not_ rip him off,” Mai retorts. “They give you an absurdly high price because they _expect_ you to negotiate with them, that’s all.”

“That was not _negotiating_ ,” Zuko counters. “That was theft.”

“Signs of shopping gone right, then!”

Both Zuko and Mai jump as Ty Lee materializes right behind them.

“Happy Conquest Day, you two!” she chirps. “And may all your purchasing ventures be as successful as Mai’s here was!”

“Shut up,” Mai mutters. “Happy Conquest Day to you too, Ty Lee. Have you gotten anything yet?”

“Not yet,” Ty Lee laments. She looks around, before a sudden grin crosses her mouth. “I was helping Suki find something for _Toph_. Let me tell you, it was a lot more amusing than I’d bargained for!”

As if on cue, the earthbending master’s voice drifts to their ears.

“Sure, sure, what’s the difference anyway, I have no opinion, why are you acting like I can see what you’re showing me –“

“Mai! Prince Zuko!” Suki exclaims, twin spots of red appearing on her cheeks. She bobs her head shortly at the two of them. “Happy Conquest Day!”

“Same to you,” Zuko replies, nodding his head slowly in return. Beside him, Mai’s mouth curls into a small half-smile.

“Oh _hey_ Sparky,” Toph sings breezily. “You’re not insane like everyone else here, tell me, am I going to be caught dead in whatever it is Fancy Dancer’s got picked out for me?”

She jabs her thumb in Suki’s direction, and Zuko gazes at the green-and-gold taffeta monstrosity in Suki’s hands.

“Um…” he fights a wince and scratches the back of his head with callused fingers. “You could…do worse?”

“But not a lot,” Toph intercedes.

“No,” Zuko admits. He throws an apologetic glance at Suki and Ty Lee, who are glaring at him in exasperation. “Sorry.”

“Way to go,” Ty Lee huffs throwing her hands up in frustration. “There goes our entire morning.”

“Your entire morning and _that_ was the best you could come up with?” Mai asks wryly.

“Hey! It was really hard finding _anything_ that was green!” Ty Lee retorts defensively.

“Or, you know, not red,” Suki finishes.

“Right,” Zuko hears himself saying dryly, “because I’m sure _Toph_ really cares about whether it’s red or not.”

A slight silence follows his words.

“ _Thank you_!” Toph exclaims, clapping her hands to her head. “I’ve been trying to tell them that _all day_.”

“Tell them what all day?” asks Aang, round-eyed.

Everyone looks up at the airbender who has just appeared in their midst.

“Hi Aang!” they all chorus, in varying degrees of enthusiasm.

“Are you here alone?” Suki asks, appraising him with shrewd eyes. “I thought Katara would be with you.”

Aang shakes his head, looking somewhat mournful.

“She – she has very strong opinions about Conquest Day,” he answers tentatively. “I thought it would be best to leave her alone today.”

“Good call,” Toph says, shaking her head slightly. “She was _crying_ all morning. When I woke up, when I was leaving to go to breakfast, when I came _back_ from breakfast…”

“Poor girl,” Suki says softly, even as Ty Lee and Mai exchange unsure glances with each other and a tightening ball of unease wars with the tension in Zuko’s chest that accompanies the mention of Katara’s name. “I hope she’s okay.”

“She’s fine,” Toph insists. “I don’t get what her problem is.”

“I do,” Aang replies quietly with a sigh. They all look at him as he continues patiently. “Today’s an important holiday for the Water Tribes, too. The equinox marks the change of the seasons, and for Katara, it’s probably a reminder of home and family. She’s lost both, and probably was forbidden to celebrate her own tribe’s rituals for years because of the Fire Empire’s treatment of the Tribes. On top of that, she’s expected to celebrate the birth of the empire that took everything from her. I imagine she feels terrible right now.”

A heavy silence descends upon the group.

“That…would explain a lot,” Suki says at last, venturing to break the silence.

“How did you know that, Twinkletoes?” Toph asks. For once, the surly earthbender appears somewhat contrite.

“She told me,” Aang replies with a shrug. “But it shouldn’t be hard to understand why someone from a former nation or colony wouldn’t be thrilled to celebrate Conquest Day. Especially from the ones that were treated poorly.”

His words, though well-meaning and gentle, still manage to hold a barb in them, and Zuko doesn’t miss the reproach hidden in Aang’s voice.

The unease in his chest turns to guilt.

“Well, they wouldn’t have been treated poorly if they’d just submitted to the Empire,” Mai points out, unsmiling. “It’s their own fault that they resisted. Defiance in the face of defeat is just plain stupidity. They’re part of the Empire now and that’s obviously a massive improvement to whatever they had before, so why can’t they just be grateful for that instead? I don’t get it.”

“ _Mai_ ,” Ty Lee gasps, round-eyed. “You don’t actually mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” Mai continues somewhat defensively, rolling her eyes, “and I don’t see why we should have to feel sorry for a bunch of people if they want to go on feeling bitter because they lost. How long does it take to get your act together, anyway?”

Another stunned silence follows her words.

“That’s harsh, Mai,” Ty Lee says at last. “Even from you.”

Mai shrugs.

“Whatever. I’m sure Katara will move on with her life, with or without my sympathy,” she replies blandly. “At least I know where my loyalties lie.”

“Loyalties?” Suki echoes incredulously, her face wrinkling with disbelief. “Calm down, Mai. Nobody’s accusing anyone of anything here. We’re just trying to understand. That’s all.”

“Looks to me like the matter is perfectly simple,” Mai argues back. “The waterbender’s upset because she comes from the losing side. That’s not her fault. But crying about it isn’t going to help her. She should be grateful for the chance that she’s getting to serve the Empire in such a high-ranking position.”

“ _Grateful_?” Aang interjects, and his face darkens forbiddingly in a way none of them have ever seen before. On the teenage monk’s sharpening features, it is surprisingly fearsome. “Mai, do you have any idea how the Empire treated the Water Tribe children in its custody after the polar wars? She has _burns_ all over her body from her time in the colonial schools that were designed to _break them from the inside out_. Forgive me if I understand completely why she’s having a hard time feeling _grateful_ for the Empire’s existence right about now.”

Zuko feels sick to his stomach.

All this time, and he’d had _no idea_.

_But that’s not true_ , whispers the uncomfortable voice of truth in his ear. _You know it’s not._

Because Zuko has always been able to put two and two together. He is not completely ignorant to the macabre legacy of the polar wars and subsequent forced assimilation of the Water Tribesmen. He’s read about it in his youth, but even if he hadn’t, he’s seen evidence of it in the darkness of Katara’s gaze, whenever he draws near. In the rage and hurt in her voice, the day she told him about the loss of her parents, her home, her tribe.

And that one summer day, so long ago, when he’d taken a stroll in the morning and stopped three soldiers from spying on a girl in the bath, three soldiers whispering about handprints etched into her skin…

_Burns shaped like handprints._

The conclusion is damning in its clarity.

_Firebender handprints._

“But she’s hardly a role model when it comes to obeying orders,” Mai returns, bullishly, foolishly, “if she got burned, she probably deserved –“

“Mai,” Zuko hears himself say through clenched teeth, “do yourself a favour, and shut up _right now_.”

The impact of these words on her is absolute. She whirls on him, her face a storm, hands slowly resting on her hips.

“ _Why_?” she challenges him. “I’m the _only one_ being loyal to the Empire here! You are all talking about things that your _father_ –“ she tosses her head in Zuko’s direction, “could have us imprisoned for treason, if he heard! Am I the only one who cares about _that_?”

“You’re being a _monster_ ,” Zuko bursts out, not even caring that the others are present, and currently gawking open-mouthed at their spat. “I always knew you could be cold, but I didn’t know that Agni forgot to give you a _heart_ –“

“Oh, don’t worry about hearts, Zuko, because _your_ bleeding one is big enough for the both of us,” Mai snaps witheringly. “The way you _fawn_ over that waterbender, it’s absolutely pathetic! She blames the world for her problems, and you sit and agree instead of taking a stand and acting like the prince that you really are!”

“Since when has admitting your mistakes been a _weakness_ to you, Mai?” Zuko demands, his voice rising in volume. “Or is it only okay when _you’re_ right, and never anytime else?”

“You make yourself _weak_ to try ingratiate yourself to a Water Tribe peasant who should be grateful to walk by your _shadow_ ,” Mai continues, as though she doesn’t hear him, “you simper and apologize and lose to her again and again, when you could just _command_ her and have her obey your orders.”

“That’s not the type of ruler I want to be,” Zuko argues, his mouth dry. “You _know_ that, Mai, I’ve told you countless times, and _still_ you continue to get angry at me because I’m not like my father.”

“And that’s why you’re _never_ going to rule,” Mai spits back. Her grey eyes are stone cold as she walks right up to him, her face inches from his, “and if you think that your father will ever consider passing the power of the throne to _you_ when Azula is _twice_ the leader you ever will be, then you are even more delusional than your uncle, and I don’t think that’s even possible.”

“ _Leave_ ,” Zuko commands quietly, and his voice is dangerous now. “ _Now_.”

“You know I’m right,” Mai whispers in a low voice.

“ _Now_ ,” Zuko repeats, with emphasis.

She stares at him with penetrating, scornful eyes, before she lets out a huff and pivots away on her heel. The red silk of her robes, and the black silk of her hair, sway in unison with every step she takes further away from him.

The silence that ensues is deafening.

“Er…” Ty Lee tries to say, before closing her mouth and thinking better of it. Her eyes dart anxiously between the now-furiously brooding prince and the receding figure of her friend. “Maybe I should go with her…make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone, you know?”

And in the blink of an eye, Ty Lee is gone.

Zuko is aware of the puzzled glances that Aang, Suki, and Toph are trying not to exchange in his presence. He is aware that he is not particularly close with any of them outside of their daily practices, aware that perhaps if he were to observe decorum, he should excuse himself and follow Ty Lee and Mai while he still could.

_But he just doesn’t care anymore_.

And so instead of brushing it aside as he usually does, this time he surprises everyone. Including himself.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he says flatly. “Mai was out of line. Please excuse her. If you can.”

He nods his head shortly at them and makes as though to leave.

“It’s okay, Zuko,” Aang speaks up abruptly, surprising him. “I know you’ve been trying to make it right. You don’t have to apologize for Mai. She’ll be better for it.”

“I guess,” Zuko answers slowly. There is a dull, leaden weight in his chest that he can’t seem to shake off, despite Aang’s reassurances. “I – I just didn’t expect that from her.”

“Mai is who she is,” Aang replies wisely. “She isn’t going to change for you, you know.”

“I know,” Zuko replies, his mouth dry. There is a painful beating in his chest as his heart takes up a pounding drumbeat of a pulse. The admission on his lips, though something he’s always known, is still more painful than he’d realized.

“And,” Aang swallows, but continues bravely, “and you aren’t going to change for her either.”

_No_ , Zuko privately agrees, slowly shaking his head. _No, I’m not_.

The revelation makes him less miserable than he expected.

If anything, oddly enough, he feels _better_? It makes no sense. He still feels uneasy and guilty and heavy in the chest, and yet, he has this strange sense that everything will be _okay_.

_Must be Air Nomad trickery_.

“Guys,” says Toph in a strangely small voice, and the moment disappears as they all turn to face the earthbender. Her fists are clenched and her face is tilted toward the ground, “I …I think we should get something for Katara.”

Suki and Aang look pleasantly surprised at Toph’s suggestion, but Zuko is not taken aback at all.

He knows guilt when he sees it.

Even if he hasn’t personally numbered among those unnamed firebenders who’d doubtless tormented her in the past, he still feels a degree of responsibility, though for the life of him, he can’t explain why.

So, wordlessly, he tags along with the others and if they are surprised that he has elected to join them, they keep it to themselves.

He spots it seconds before Suki points it out and asks the vendor for a closer look.

The thick traveling robe is light and airy to the touch, but constructed comfortably and sensibly of blue linen, and trimmed and lined with white silk. It reminds Zuko of the ratty, frayed robe that the waterbender still wears, except it isn’t falling apart and is well-suited for the hot days and cool nights of the Fire Nation’s climate and is lightly embroidered in white silk thread resembling the crests of ocean waves.

“It’s _perfect_ ,” Suki croons.

“Comfortable, too,” Toph remarks, running a hand along a smooth linen sleeve. “And warm. She could use it for the colder months coming up.”

“I don’t think she has any great aversion to cold, Toph, she was born in the South Pole,” Aang retorts wryly. “But this _does_ really suit her.” He turns to Zuko. “What do you think, Zuko?”

He brushes a finger along the smooth white silk trimming the neckline. It is cool to the touch. The blue linen is the exact same shade of the ocean on a clear summer’s day.

“It’s the same colour as her eyes,” he says quietly.

Aang, Suki, and Toph all turn to stare at him, stunned.

He quickly withdraws his hand, but doesn’t say a word more.

To say more, he feels, would incriminate him further. Best pretend it never happened.

“How much for this one?” Suki inquires, holding the blue linen robe up.

“ _Forty silver pieces_ ,” replies the vendor.

“You’re _joking_ ,” Suki and Toph say together, but the vendor holds firm. He waxes poetic about the quality of the fabric and the craftsmanship of the embroidery.

Suki and Aang each contribute two silvers, and Toph empties the contents of her satchel to yield twelve more, but the vendor is not easily swayed.

“Come on,” Suki wheedles, “this is all we have and who else is going to buy blue on Conquest Day?”

“ _Thirty or nothing_ ,” barks the vendor in reply.

Zuko _knows_ she’d be furious if she found out, but it’s Conquest Day and she’ll never forgive him anyway.

“Here,” he says, surprising just about everyone as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fistful of silver pieces. He places an abundant handful of them onto the countertop, where the round pieces begin to roll across the weathered wood surface. “That should be more than enough.”

Satisfied, the vendor folds the robe and wraps it neatly in a package of paper and twine, before pressing it into Zuko’s hands and bowing them out of his shop.

“Here,” Zuko says awkwardly, handing the packaged robe over to Aang, “it’s probably best if you guys gave it to her.”

“We’ll tell her it was from all of us,” Aang says, eyes shining.

“Best not,” Zuko advises him wisely.

He leaves them shortly afterward, walking aimlessly back to the encampment alone. The tunic Mai had encouraged him to buy dangles listlessly from his fingers, and he contemplates the merits of throwing it in the river that winds along behind the base.

_Mai_.

The thought of seeing her makes him sick to his stomach, and yet, she’s his girlfriend, his beautiful, noble, headstrong girlfriend who _makes him happy_ …

His feet trek the path from memory alone, along the river that cuts behind the camp, by the enclosure where the girls take their baths in the morning, behind the soldiers’ barracks and ranking officer’s suites…

Except he isn’t happy, he’s miserable, and he’s been miserable for a long time now, and it seems like every fight they’ve had recently carves a little more out of him, hollowing him out just a little further until he loses the will to fathom how much more he can take.

It strikes him that perhaps, that’s what she wants from him.

And Aang, with wide clear eyes that see more than they have any right to, and possessing a wisdom that belies his youth, even _Aang_ had stumbled onto the truth of it all, long before Zuko himself had been willing to admit it.

Mai wants a _ruler_ , a _leader_ like his father. A man that Zuko reviles to the core.

A man that he can never be.

And Zuko wants…

_I don’t know_.

He sighs, clapping a callused palm to his cheek, the one that is smooth and fair, not the disfigured scarred one.

A strange sound greets his ears, faint against the brisk day’s wind but clear and serene nonetheless, like the call of a bird or the silvery whistle of a flute.

Or a young woman’s melancholy voice, singing a song he’s never heard before, in a language that is strange to his ears, that he doesn’t recognize.

It takes him a moment, but the waterbender’s voice is recognizably lovely and only a slight huskiness in her voice belies her previous tears.

He stops at her door, momentarily entranced by the haunting purity of her soul cry. For a moment, he is drawn out of himself, out of his petty troubles and woes. For a moment, he is enchanted. For a moment, he is free.

He wishes he could understand what she’s saying. It must be a song of surpassing sadness, he decides, a song of loneliness and partings and old spirits long departed from this world. His own heart aches to hear it.

She stops singing for a bit, and the quiet that follows is stifling.

Against his better judgment, he places a palm on the wooden surface of her door, and part of him – a part of him that he can’t explain, a part of him that cedes rational thought and decorum to pure animal instinct – longs to join her, to hold her, to tell her that it’ll be okay.

Except he doesn’t have that right, and if he tries, he doesn’t doubt that she would end him with no uncertainty or hesitation if she knew he had caught her in her most vulnerable moments.

And it hurts him, just like how Mai’s dismissal of her past wounds and hurts had hurt him, and he _can’t explain why_.

She is nobody to him, and he is the face of the enemy to her.

In time she starts singing again, a different song this time but one that sounds no less sad to his ears.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there listening to her, silently unwilling to leave her alone, which is entirely silly since she doesn’t even know he’s there and thus rendering the gesture an entirely selfish one on his part.

But when he withdraws his hand and turns to leave and her voice grows quieter as he walks away, he swears he hears a part of his own soul cry out in return.

And for Agni’s sake, he doesn’t get it. He really doesn’t.

That night, the firebenders light a bigger bonfire than usual, and the entire encampment comes out dressed in their finest silks and velvets. A sizeable band of respectable talent is gathered by the flames and they strike up a rousing, jubilant chorus. Cups of foamy ale are passed around with their evening meal under the stars and circles and lines of laughing, stumbling soldiers dance around the bonfire.

He stands on the periphery of it all, not really in the mood to dance, but knowing that his absence would be noted and taken as a slight.

Across from him, on the far side of the fire, he sees Mai, dressed in the beautiful red silk she bought earlier that day, with gold ornaments in her hair and on her neck and wrists. She wears a scowl but the crowd of eager young men surrounding her and Ty Lee are undeterred.

Strangely, it doesn’t faze him as much as he thought it would, and when she chances a glance in his direction, he turns his head away easily.

His eyes alight upon Aang, Suki, and Toph, who have miraculously, incredibly, coaxed Katara out from her room. Though her face is slightly puffy and her eyes are still a little red from all the crying, she is resplendent in the lovely new robe they’d all got for her, and Zuko catches her stroking the fine linen in wonder, with some degree of possessiveness, and it warms him.

Aang is dancing with her now, walking her through the steps of a popular Fire Nation waltz. She follows his movements intently, with all the elegance of a capable waterbender, and her movements, always graceful like the ebb and tide of flowing water, are particularly well suited to the dance. Her hands are tentative, one on the young monk’s shoulder, the other clasped in one of his hands, and even in the orange-gold glow of the firelight, there is a faint flush discernable on her cheeks.

Aang isn’t blushing, but his movements are coloured with enthusiastic appeal, and his hand is firm around Katara’s waist.

Zuko drains his cup and finds himself wishing, for a single, irrational, alcohol-tinged moment, to be in Aang’s place, before shaking his head and turning his attention to a pretty young girl with hopeful eyes whose name he doesn’t know.

And later still, when the fires have burned down to the embers and everyone has surrendered to the slumber of the night, he dreams of blue eyes and soft hands, of her melancholic, lilting voice rising in song, of her long, thick hair undone from its sensible braid and cascading in dark waves along the lush curves of her body.

In his dreams, she dances with him all night long. 

* * *

 

**author's notes.**  this chapter turned out to be a lot more character revelation than i'd originally intended. next chapter should bring us squarely back to the plot, however, so be prepared for shit to royally hit the fan! 

until then, i welcome your feedback! cheers.

 


	10. jetstream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toph senses a stranger in the night.

**disclaimer.** everything you recognize belongs to bryke, i own nothing, etc.

 **author's notes.** been waiting _ages_ to write this one. i hope it was worth the wait.

much love and gratitude of the highest order to everyone who's been leaving such lovely feedback for this story! reading your comments makes this story worth every minute i spend writing it. you all are the best!

i give you...

**southern lights**

**chapter x.** jetstream

* * *

 _say you were me_  
_then you could see the view  
_ _you know we are equally damaged_

"for the damaged"/ blonde redhead

* * *

"Katara. _Katara_. Are you awake?"

Bleary-eyed and momentarily disoriented, Katara opens her eyes and looks around in confusion.

It is the middle of the night and the world beyond her window is pitch black. The stars are hidden, the moon absent for this one day of the month. The wind whistles quietly, rustling a falling leaf here and there, but for the most part, everyone is still asleep.

"What is it, Toph?" she mumbles, struggling to sit up.

The room is dark, but she can tell from a faint silhouette that Toph is out of bed and standing by the door.

"There's someone here," Toph whispers urgently, and Katara realizes that for once, the blind earthbender is _serious_. Her senses heighten.

"Where?" she asks, pulling the covers on her bed back. "By the door?"

"No, not anymore," Toph replies. Katara can faintly make out the earthbender's palm flat against the wood of the door. "Outside. I felt them sneak past the window, but now he – I think it's a he – is heading toward the other building. Where the boys sleep."

All thought of sleep gone, Katara gets to her feet and quietly peers out the window. Darkness greets her eyes.

"Do you know who it is, Toph?"

"No idea," Toph answers, shrugging.

"Are you sure?" Katara presses. Unconsciously, she finds herself reaching for her waterskin.

" _Positive_ ," Toph affirms. "Whoever it is, he's keeping cover and walking _quietly_. As though he doesn't want to be seen or heard. It seems a little creepy to me."

"Me too," Katara agrees, chewing at her lip. "Why would someone be sneaking around one of the most highly trained army divisions in the middle of the night? Could it be a spy?"

"A spy for _what_? The Empire's top brass is _here_ , why would the Empire want to spy on its own people?"

"I wouldn't put it past them," Katara mutters, before she catches herself. "Wait, top brass? Here? What if it's just someone from a rebel group trying to get information?"

"He sounds like he wanted more than just _information_ ," Toph says grimly. "He has a lot of steel on him and he moves like he means _business_."

Katara's mouth goes dry as she catches the implications.

"An assassin," she says quietly, her heart racing.

" _What_?"

"Think about it," Katara says quickly, as she strides over to her trunk, flings it open, and withdraws her bindings. "It's the dark of the moon and a cloudy night. Perfect for avoiding detection, even if you move quietly and stay low. If he has a lot of steel on him, he probably isn't a bender and he's probably not here peaceably. And – well, you said that the army's top brass is here. Perfect target for a rebel group that has guts and wants to make a statement."

A moment of silence while Toph processes Katara's thoughts.

" _Spirits_ , Sweetness," Toph says at last, in a weak voice. "I – I think you're right. I'm losing him now, but he's heading in the direction of the General's pavilion."

Katara finishes doing up her bindings and slips on a warm tunic, leggings, and the new robe she'd received just the day prior, before strapping her waterskin to her hip.

"I suppose we should go after him?" Katara asks in a low voice.

"We don't have a choice," Toph answers firmly, withdrawing her hand from the door and reaching for clothes of her own. "I can't see him anymore and if he's going to hurt someone, we have to help."

"But we don't even _know_ that he's going to hurt anyone, it's just a wild guess," Katara points out.

"So we follow him," Toph decides, sliding on a large green robe over top of her oversized shirt and pants, "until we know what he's up to."

They look at each other in unspoken agreement, before Toph opens the door and Katara quietly slips through it.

They tiptoe silently through the hallways, before quietly exiting the building and stepping into the night air. Toph wrinkles her face in concentration, before pointing in the direction of the intruder and rushing off that way. Katara follows, amazed at how much Mai's stealth training has improved her ability to move silently in the shadows.

They bear down on the intruder, who Katara cannot yet see, following him in the general direction of Shinu's grand pavilion.

Yet, to Katara's surprise, Toph turns around and doubles back.

"What are you doing?" Katara hisses through clenched teeth. "The General is _that_ way!"

"I _know_ that," Toph whispers back, "but he's going back the way we came."

"Maybe he's trying to shake us off," Katara suggests. "Maybe he can hear us."

"Or maybe he's also trying to avoid detection," Toph points out. "Look – he's heading into the superior officer's quarters."

"Aang stays there," Katara muses, speeding up.

"So does Sparky," Toph comments absently.

Katara freezes.

"A member of the royal family," she breathes. "Prince Ozai's only _son_."

And for the purpose of coercing the start of an insurrection within the empire? Katara herself could not have picked a better target, save the Crown Prince himself if General Iroh had been present.

"We have to stop him," Toph urges, her voice rising slightly. "Zuko's in _trouble_."

"He's a bender, Toph," Katara says uncertainly. "He'll be fine."

"We have a _responsibility_ , Katara," argues Toph, planting her hands on her hips. "Even if you don't like him, you can't let them _kill_ him in cold blood. In his _sleep_. He doesn't deserve that!"

Katara doesn't move.

Toph lets out an exasperated huff.

"And Twinkletoes _still_ doesn't think you're a lost cause! If you honestly can stand by and do nothing while some secret assassin tries to _kill_ him, then you're worse than the firebenders you hate so much, you know that?"

With that, the earthbender turns to leave.

"I'm going to stop him," she says in a low voice. "When you remember that you're better than this, you know where to find me."

Toph rushes off, leaving Katara alone in the dark with her turbulent thoughts.

It's not that she wants him _dead_ , she thinks to herself feverishly. She has no doubt of Zuko's ability to protect himself, even in a surprise attack. He is able to hold his own against herself and Toph, so she doubts the threat presented by one assassin who probably isn't even a bender.

But then again, she's seen firsthand what non-benders can accomplish, even against the firebenders. Especially if they have enough rage in their hearts. And if there's one thing she is intimately familiar with, it is rage against the empire, and the royal family, and their cruelty.

The soldier in her tells her to stay. That she is on one side of the war, and he is on the other, and casualties are a reality of the battle his own father had started. She should know.

Her father. Her mother. Gran-Gran. All gone.

And Sokka, long fled, so many years ago. Only the feeling in her heart convinces her that he is still out there, somewhere, alive. But it's been long, _so long_ , since she's heard any word from him, and hope is at times more painful than grief…

 _He deserves it_ , she tries to convince herself. _He's Ozai's son. He deserves it_.

But even she knows that isn't true.

His presence exasperates her and his behaviour frustrates her and the sight of him reminds her of his father, but he has treated her no worse than any other of the firebenders with whom she serves and has grudgingly come to respect. He has never tried to hurt her, even in their training spars, even when he lost his temper and unleashed his rage at her, that one time.

It takes a moment to process, and she is not sure what to make of it when it finally hits her.

Ozai's son means her no harm.

And he is in real danger.

 _Oh Sokka_ , she thinks suddenly, closing her eyes and wishing he was here, to guide her. He had always been the fighter, not her. But she is here and he isn't. _Sokka, what would you do?_

Sokka had hated the firebenders as much as she had. Maybe even more.

But he had also been shrewd in the ways of the world, and would not have abandoned an ally.

And Zuko, _Prince Zuko_ , though it makes her skin crawl to think of it, had turned out to be an unexpected ally to her in some ways, even though she had never asked for it.

"Moon and oceans save us," she whispers vehemently to herself.

Then she turns and rushes off in the direction Toph had gone.

* * *

In his dreams, the fire surrounds him, engulfs him, swallows him.

It doesn't hurt, oddly enough. By now, he is numb to it. The dazzling orange flames lick his face, their heat caressing the rough edges of his scar like a lover's hand.

He blinks and the flames are gone and the soothing caress on his face is an herbal poultice. He peers around himself curiously, staring into the kind eyes of the palace's Chief Healer.

"You saved me," he says uncertainly.

"I tried," the healer explains helplessly. "There will be scarring, my prince, I cannot spare you that, but you will still be able to see and hear, and that is itself a blessing…"

"Thank you," Zuko says blankly. "It could have been much worse."

"It could have," agrees the healer. "But you will live and you will thrive."

"I hope the same for you," Zuko offers uncertainly, a thread of unease coursing through him.

The healer shakes his head.

"Not for me," he says sadly. "They killed me for poisoning an emperor."

The healer's voice sounds like it is coming from a great distance away. The room is filling with fog, and the scent is unsettling to him.

"But you didn't do it, did you?" Zuko guesses.

The healer shrugs.

"Who knows, my prince?"

Then the healer disappears, swallowed by the thick mists. The feeling of it is heavy in Zuko's nostrils and he coughs once, twice, before his eyes snap open.

It takes him a moment to register that the dark room is still full of smoke.

 _Fire_ , he thinks automatically, his body tensing. _Someone lit the room on fire._

But the scent is still strange, and he can't see flames.

_What's going on?_

Then, he hears it and his senses go on high alert.

The whisper of soft-soled shoes on solid stone ground. The quiet whirr of steel blades whistling through the air.

He jumps out of the way just in time, as a long steel sword hurtles toward him and embeds itself deep into the pillow where his head had been, moments earlier.

He lands lightly on the floor and with a wave of his hand, quickly lights the torches hanging in their sconces on the walls.

The room is suffused with a cloudy orange glow. Cloudy for the thick smoke wafting throughout.

And, barely visible, is a dark figure wielding a long hooked sword, bearing straight down on him.

He leaps out of the way just in time, feeling the blade slice through the air inches away from his face.

_What –_

He flexes his wrists and rotates them sharply, throwing up a ring of fire around him.

The stranger pauses and considers its next move.

Zuko takes a moment to breathe.

The stranger leans into an offensive stance and, within the blink of an eye, leaps six feet into the air.

 _Shit_ , Zuko thinks to himself, watching as his attacker easily clears the flames and somersaults expertly in the air above his head.

For a wild moment, he thinks it's Ty Lee from the way his attacker moves so effortlessly in the air, but he knows better.

Ty Lee would never be caught wearing so much black.

And Jeong-Jeong's methods are unconventional at best, but Zuko doubts that the old man would actually send an armed man with swords into his room while he slept.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, he drops down to the ground and channels a ferocious blast upward in the air through the soles of his feet.

The attacker tumbles back and lands heavily on the ground.

Now that Zuko is fully awake and the room is bright from the flames, he can discern his attacker as a young man, covered head to toe in black boiled leather.

He doesn't have much time beyond that to think, as the strange man jumps back to his feet, leaps over to Zuko's bed, and wrenches his other sword free. He lands a foot away from Zuko, both swords brandished at the ready.

 _Two can play at this_ , Zuko thinks grimly, his eyes traveling to the mantel above his fireplace.

The man leaps at him, whirling both swords with brutal efficiency.

Zuko jumps back, out of the way, ducks below the reach of the blades, and races to the wall opposite. He grabs the two ornamental dual swords hanging on his mantel and spins them experimentally, feeling for the balance.

He hasn't practiced this in months, not since Jeong-Jeong had him cross-training regularly, but he is loath to burn this man alive until he has answers.

So when his attacker rushes him again, Zuko braces himself and parries the man's swords with his own, before lunging forward with a few sharp jabs of his own.

His opponent takes a step backward, yielding the advantage to Zuko, who presses his offensive in an aggressive onslaught of strikes, all of which are expertly deflected.

Biting back a hiss of frustration, Zuko feints and, catching his opponent off-balance, slices away at the black hood covering the man's face.

The shorn black cloth floats lazily to the ground.

Zuko finds himself facing a man he does not recognize, who doesn't appear that much older than he himself is, with unkempt chestnut hair and strangely unsettling dark eyes that do not seem to see him, despite being focused directly on him.

The strange young man lunges forward again before Zuko can gather his thoughts, whirling his twin hooked blades with practiced efficiency. They catch Zuko at different spots: one grazes the crook of his arm, while the other bites into his side and draws blood.

A cry of pain escapes Zuko's lips and he falls back, trying to put some distance between himself and his assailant while clutching at his side, hastily trying to staunch the bright red flow from his side. But the brown-haired mercenary has the advantage now, and Zuko ducks just in time as one of the man's blades skins his knee.

 _He wants to kill me_ , Zuko realizes belatedly, as the other blade rushes for his chest.

Time seems to slow down for him and he closes his eyes.

He doesn't feel the blade that pierces his heart, surprisingly enough.

He only feels the cold, and the rush of blood in his veins and on his skin, and the sway of the earth beneath him.

 _Strange_ , he thinks dimly through the haze in his mind as he drops to the ground in front of his bedroom door. _The earth is moving_.

He lands on his stomach, spread-eagled on the ground, which ripples and pulses and cracks.

Over the din, he swears he hears a girl's voice grunt, a young man's voice cry out.

Then the sound of footsteps from behind him. Someone is running, their footfalls echoing in his ears.

Something wedges itself between his stomach and the floor, before it sharply forces him onto his back.

And then hands, cool hands on his heart, on the gaping wound atop his heart.

 _It's too late_ , he tries to say, _it's too late_.

Except, a few moments pass and he belatedly realizes, _except it isn't_.

The cold recedes and the fog in his mind yields to crystalline silence and the agony in his limbs renews with savage vigour.

He opens his eyes and turns his head.

Toph has immobilized the intruder with ruthless efficiency. The young man is trapped, encased in a pillar of earth that imprisons him from toe to chin. A gag of rock and earth covers the man's mouth. Only his eyes and tousled brown hair are visible to Zuko.

"Wait," says a voice, _Katara's_ voice, from somewhere above Zuko's ear. Her voice is strangely clipped as she rises to her feet, Zuko sees as he turns his head.

The room is dimly lit now, as most of his flames have gone out. But as the waterbender takes a hesitant step forward, he can see a strange whirl of emotions ripple across her face. Confusion, recognition, and dread intermingle on her features as she regards the young man trapped in the center of the room.

" _Jet_?" he hears her ask incredulously, her voice barely a whisper, yet somehow audible to his ears.

She's standing in front of the assailant now, but unlike Toph, her posture does not indicate wariness or caution in any form. Instead, though her face is not directly visible to him, Zuko does not think he imagines the pity in her eyes as she raises a hand and places it on the youth's cheek.

"Oh Jet," she murmurs softly, and there is no question in her voice this time, only an intense, heavy sadness, "what did they do to you this time?"

A ringing silence fills the room as Zuko's attacker stills and ceases struggling against his bonds.

"What the hell, Sweetness?" Toph demands, turning to face Katara. "You _know_ this maniac?"

Katara places another hand to the young man's forehead. She appears stricken.

"I – I do," she answers quietly. "Or rather, I used to."

Toph falls into a stunned silence, and even Zuko feels his heart beginning to race.

" _How_?" he rasps out, the word scraping across his parched throat.

Katara's back stiffens at the sound of his voice, but she doesn't turn around. Her hands are still on the chestnut-haired man's face, slowly caressing his cheeks, his jawline, his forehead, and suddenly, Zuko realizes it with a sickening feeling in his stomach.

She says nothing. Instead her fingers come to rest on the man's temples.

Zuko struggles to sit upright, and manages to get onto his knees. He clutches a hand to the wound on his chest, but to his surprise, the flesh has knitted and healed without a trace.

_How –_

He tilts his head up abruptly to focus on the waterbender. Her hands, still on the man's temples, are covered with water, and – strangely enough – the water is _glowing_.

"You're _healing_ him," he says breathlessly, getting to his feet. He can scarcely believe his eyes, but it's there for him to see, right in front of him, "you can heal with your bending, can't you, Katara? You're a _healer_."

* * *

Katara closes her eyes, focusing. It's been a very long time, an eternity it seems, since she's done it, but it comes rushing back to her with startling clarity. She feels the pulse of Jet's chi, sluggish against the water in her hands, but still flowing with each beat of his heart.

Her heart thumps painfully against the cage of her chest, and everything else in the room sounds like it's very far away. There is a storm swelling within her, of confusion and homesickness and dread all rolled into one, at finding Jet in this state _here_ , of all places, caught red-handed trying to murder a prince of the royal family.

 _Almost succeeding_ in killing a prince of the royal family. If she hadn't healed Zuko when she had –

Her blood stills as she realizes what she's done.

Years and years of hiding her bending, her healing, from those who would have punished her for it, and then used it for their own gain.

All that effort put into concealing that part of her.

And then she'd gone and _healed_ him. Even better, she's _healing Jet_ in front of him.

Moon and oceans, _Ozai's own son_ knows she can heal.

She wants to feel sick, but there's no time, she doesn't have the luxury of worrying about herself because _Jet_ is here, all the way here, and he is in grave danger.

She needs to help him.

The chi is blocked around his temples, just as she'd suspected, and as she pulls experimentally, trying to loosen the blockage, Jet's face screws up in pain and he cries out through the gag.

"I can't do anything for him this way, Toph," she says quietly, opening her eyes. "Could you please release him, just for a little bit?"

Toph, who has been regarding the scene with a great deal of confusion, suddenly appears aghast at Katara's request.

"Are you _crazy_?" she exclaims. "He just tried to _kill_ Sparky! He's _dangerous_! I'm not letting him go anywhere!"

"He's not dangerous in this condition," Katara insists gently. "And he doesn't deserve to die, not until I know what they did to him. Please, Toph."

"I don't know if this is a good idea," Toph retorts bullishly, jamming her hands at her waist. "Maybe you knew this guy a long time ago, Sweetness, but apparently, people change and become crazy sword-wielding ninja murderers. I don't think you can trust him."

"I've never _trusted_ him," Katara bites back, fighting to keep her voice calm as the memories threaten to engulf her. "But there's something here that doesn't add up, and I want answers. Surely you want to know _why_ he's here and who sent him, right?"

"Katara's right, Toph," Zuko speaks up from behind her, and Katara flinches at the sound of his hoarse voice. He sounds _terrible_ , but she'd been thorough and is certain that the prince is in no more immediate danger than Jet currently is. "You can just bind his hands, if you're concerned about any threat he poses. I think that's fair, given the circumstances."

 _He's remarkably level, considering Jet did just try to kill him_ , Katara muses.

But Toph acquiesces with a giant scowl. With a pull of her fists and a flattening motion, the pillar of earth holding Jet in place sinks back into the earth, and the gag around his mouth vanishes.

Almost immediately, Jet collapses.

Katara catches him before he slumps over fully, bracing his weight against her own. Gritting her teeth, she guides him into a half-crouching seated position, his back leaning against the side of Zuko's lavish bed for support.

Jet is pale and clammy, and though he is staring directly at her, he gives no indication that he recognizes her. In fact, he is entirely silent, Katara realizes. Apart from the occasional cry of pain, he hasn't said a word.

"Jet," she says quietly, placing her hands on his temples again, trying to feel for the blockage. "Jet, it's me, Katara."

He is silent, staring at her unblinkingly through slack, unfocused eyes.

"Give it up, Sweetness," Toph calls from behind her, "he doesn't know you anymore, you're wasting your time."

His pupils are large, Katara notices with a growing sense of dread in the pit of her stomach, dilated so much they have all but swallowed the dark brown of his irises.

_What was it that they used to say?_

"Jet," Katara whispers, the words coming back to her with chilling familiarity, like a song half-remembered from long ago bursting into her memory with full clarity, "the – the Earth King no longer wishes for your services at Lake Laogai."

As though flipping a switch, Jet's face _changes_.

He lets out a scream.

His eyes are no longer distant and unfocused – instead, they're _wide_ open and roving around, taking in his surroundings with alarming urgency. Colour returns to his cheeks, and his breaths become frenetic and shallow.

Toph makes a motion as though to immobilize him again, but Zuko holds a hand up, beckoning for her to stop.

"Jet," Katara whispers, gently placing her hands on the shaking man's shoulders, "Jet, _it's me_."

Jet sharply inhales through his nose, tensing at the sound of Katara's voice. His eyes rake the length of her face, inches from his, and there is no mistaking the fear in them.

" _Katara_?" he gasps.

His voice is that of a young boy's, fearful and broken.

"Yes," Katara answers, and there's a definite quaver in her voice as she fights to hold herself together, "yes, it's me, Jet."

"Katara –" Jet repeats, scrambling to his knees and clutching urgently at her hands, "I – I don't know where I am – I don't know what –"

"It'll be okay," Katara lies, because after all this time, lying to him is easy, "it'll be okay…"

"They did it again," Jet rambles on, a crazed look entering his eyes, "they _keep doing it_ , and there's no one left to stop it, they took everyone – Smellerbee, Pipsqueak, the Duke, Longshot – all of them –"

"All of them?" Katara echoes, the pang in her heart aching for people she hasn't seen in years, people she never thought she would miss, yet now inexplicably does.

" _All_ of them," Jet repeats, his voice becoming more lucid. The feverish brightness in his eyes persists, but the twitching in his face has mostly ebbed. "All. Gone. One by one, they took them away, one by one in uniform, gone, and it's just me, they keep trying to break me and I can't, I _won't_ , I'm the last of the freedom fighters, they can't take that from me –"

"They can't," Katara reassures him, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. "They won't."

Jet visibly relaxes at this.

"They won't?"

"They won't," Katara repeats, more firmly. "Don't you remember, Jet? The Fire Empire killed your parents, burned down your village, left you for dead. They'll stop at nothing to finish the job."

A small, brief, mischievous grin flits across Jet's face and suddenly, his face is transformed. Katara remembers that he had always been very handsome as a youth, and adulthood somehow suits him even more.

"They can _try_ ," he offers, coughing slightly. "I'm only one boy. Maybe they're right about me, maybe I don't stand a chance against them after all."

"Or," Katara prompts him, waiting.

"Or," Jet finishes solemnly, "maybe they're _dead wrong_."

"Tell me more," Katara presses. She extricates her hands from Jet's grasping clutches, and places them back at his temples. "The Freedom Fighters. When did you last see them all?"

Jet lets out a shuddering exhale as she bends the water to her will, but she is gentle and it soothes him instead.

"I don't know." He screws his eyes shut, trying to concentrate. "It was winter – a few months maybe?"

"The better part of a year," Katara advises him, her voice quiet. "It's autumn now, Jet."

"Is it?" Jet's eyes shoot wide open, and he appears genuinely confused. "I – I don't know – I don't remember anything but the dark and the cold and – and the _lights_ , Katara – the _lights_ –"

"He's telling the truth," Toph whispers, more to herself. "I don't believe it but he is."

Katara takes a deep breath and continues.

"In Lake Laogai?"

Jet closes his eyes and begins to _shiver_.

"They – they put me back in my chair and tied me down and made me forget everything again –" his eyes fill with tears, unexpectedly, and they spill over to trail a lazy path down his cheeks, " – I keep _forgetting_ , why is it so _easy_ for me to forget?"

His memories are close to the surface, bubbling over the paths of his chi, and without thinking, she draws at the water near his temples and _pulls_ –

Jet stiffens like a board, and Katara lets out a shriek at the vision that consumes her.

She is aware of the hands on her physical form, hands on her shoulders, on her upper arms, pulling her back and away, but her mind is far away, gone to dark, damp caves lit with sinister green light carved in an extensive underwater network –

She can't see their eyes, their pointed hats disguise them from view, but their hands are of rock and their voices are hypnotic lulls that dim her mind and coax her to sleep.

Somewhere in the distance, she hears something solid hit the ground.

People far away are screaming.

" _Katara!_ "

Suddenly, someone is shaking her fiercely and she snaps out of it.

She's back in Zuko's room, in the middle of the night. Blinking slowly, she finds that she's been dragged back six feet and she's upright on her feet. Strong hands hold her in place.

"Katara, are you okay?" Aang's voice asks from somewhere by her ear.

"I – " Katara's head is reeling from the onslaught of what she can only assume are Jet's memories, pounding within the recesses of her skull. "I – Aang, when did you get here?"

Sensing that she is slowly coming around, Aang gently loosens his grip on her shoulders.

"I heard someone scream, earlier," he explains simply. "It sounded like it came from Zuko's room, so I came to check on him – and then I saw someone in uniform by his door, I didn't get a good look at them – but then they bolted and then I came here and saw –"

Katara can't grasp any of it, until she realizes that Aang is pointing at Jet.

Jet lies prone on the ground, his face waxy, his eyes once again glassy and unseeing.

The dagger sticking out of his chest is buried to its enameled green hilt.

The world spins and Katara feels her feet go out from under her.

"No," she whispers, " _no_ ," she reaches for him, trying to feel for a pulse, a vein, _anything_ , "no _no no_ …"

Somewhere in the distance, she hears the ground rumbling, but it doesn't make sense to her, nothing makes sense.

She touches her fingers to Jet's chest, right where the blade sticks out. His blood still spills out, but the flow is slow and she is certain that his heart has been pierced.

It feels like she's being strangled.

The door behind her slams and she hears the rush of footsteps enter the room.

" _Nothing_ ," Toph spits out, her voice dark with fury. "Whoever it was _disappeared_."

"Did you not get a good look at them when you got here?" Zuko asks Aang quietly. His voice is weary.

"I'm telling you, I just saw someone wearing a soldier's uniform standing by your door. Then they saw me and ran away. It was dark, I couldn't see much," Aang explains patiently.

"A _soldier's_ uniform?" Toph cuts in suspiciously. "As in, one of _our_ soldiers?"

"Not necessarily," Zuko sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand. "It's easy enough to acquire a military uniform and pass unnoticed through a base camp."

"Wait, how did _you_ not notice them?" Aang asks Toph suddenly, frowning. "I thought you could sense _everything._ "

"I _can_ ," Toph insists, crossing her arms against her chest. "But I was distracted. Sweetness over here was screaming and fainting while doing her water tribe mumbo jumbo, and Sparky and I had our hands full trying to stop her from falling over."

"It was a little chaotic," Zuko admits. "We didn't even notice when – we just heard the body fall and then – well, whoever it was that threw the knife was _very_ efficient. Toph could barely sense them when we pursued."

He's right on that account, Katara realizes dully. Whoever Jet's killer was, they had done their job with brutal, cold efficiency.

"But _how_?" Aang is struggling to put a finger on it. "Unless the killer could _fly_ , you should have been able to sense them, Toph! You _see_ with earthbending!"

"Well, I'm sorry, but I _couldn't_ see them and I don't know why!" Toph exclaims. "I'm confused about it too, believe me."

"Toph couldn't see them," Katara says slowly, her words spilling out of her before she has a chance to hold it all in, because Jet had showed up tonight and Jet is dead and his killer is out there and now she will never know the truth of it all, "because the person who killed Jet was also an earthbender."

She has no way to prove it but she has seen enough to stake her life on it.

The others freeze at her words.

"How do you know that?" Aang asks her gently, kneeling down beside her gently. "I believe you, it makes sense, but –"

"I want to know _everything_ ," Toph declares, tossing her head in Katara's direction huffily. "I have _no_ idea what's going on and I'm _confused_. One moment someone's killing Sparky –"

"Wait, someone tried to kill you too?" Aang interrupts, turning to face Zuko with wide eyes.

"It's been a long night," Zuko shrugs.

" – and then the next, Sugar Queen over here is trying to heal _Sparky's killer_ ," Toph continues as though Aang and Zuko haven't interrupted her, "because _turns out_ Sparky's killer is actually an old boyfriend of hers or something –"

"You can _heal_?" Aang's head whips around to face Katara, whose face begins to redden.

"He wasn't my _boyfriend_ ," Katara denies without much enthusiasm, pointedly ignoring Aang's question.

"Yeah, yeah, real convincing Sweetness," Toph dismisses Katara's protests with a wave of her hand, "and _then_ just in the middle of some weird healing stuff, when we're _finally starting_ to get this guy to start talking about who hired him and what he's _doing_ here in the first place, _another killer shows up and kills the first killer_. How the _hell_ does that even happen?" She claps a hand to her forehead, before pointing at Katara. "You're holding out on us Sweetness, and you'd better start talking."

"Toph," Zuko reprimands gently, giving Katara a nervous glance, "maybe this isn't the right time. Katara knew him – Jet, I think she called him – and, this is obviously a difficult time for her –"

"No," Katara says bluntly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, because the only thing worse is accepting _Zuko's_ pity, "no, I'll talk, I – I don't know much about tonight but I can guess…"

She trails off, wondering where to start.

"His name was Jet?" Aang prompts softly.

Katara swallows past the lump in her throat.

"Yes," she says quietly.

"And he was your boyfriend, right?" Toph queries impertinently.

" _Toph,_ " both Zuko and Aang admonish her with a groan.

But Katara shakes her head.

"Not exactly," she answers. "It was…complicated. I met Jet under some very difficult circumstances."

"Tell us about it," says Aang.

"I met him before I was sent to military school," Katara says quietly, her fingers tracing a small pattern on the man's temples. "When we were both in a colonial school in New Ozai."

She pauses, trying to collect herself. Though those had been far from happy days, the memories are painful and threaten to engulf her. It is all she can do to keep them at bay, but strangely enough, talking about it seems to help, like drawing poison from a wound.

"I – by then, I'd been separated from most of my people," she says in a faltering voice. "New Ozai was far from home, and – and I wasn't treated very well – because I was Water Tribe and – well, you know –"

"Because you were a waterbender?" Aang asks.

"No," Katara shakes her head vigorously, "no, nobody really knew about that, I tried to hide it because waterbending was outlawed in the Empire back then – they'd dragged off all the benders I knew and – it was bad enough being a bender, but a _healer?_ It was just safer to hide it. I grew up hiding it. It was hard, but I had to."

She hears Zuko's breath catch in his throat, but she presses on before he has a chance to interrupt her too.

"I was in a high-security facility. The Empire called it a school, but everyone knew it was more like a prison, to break their most resilient cases. For me, I was – I was Water Tribe. Jet was different. He was a freedom fighter." A small smile crosses her mouth, despite herself. "And I don't think he was ever much of a threat, really. He'd assembled a small group of misfits, just like him, people who never really belonged anywhere, people who'd turned their frustrations with the Empire into violence, people who were barely kids…"

All gone, now. What did it matter now? Except that for her, no one would be left to tell their story?

The realization is like an abrupt kick in the stomach.

"Anyway, he took me in. Saw that I could be useful in my own way. We would dream up these plans, you know, to take back our land and destroy the Empire once and for all. Big dreams for such small people, I know, but when you had nothing, like us, sometimes that was all that kept you going. Dreams. Empty promises. Any cheap thrill that took you from one moment to the next."

She swallows, remembering.

"What happened after you met Jet in New Ozai?" Aang inquires. "And why do you think it was an earthbender that killed Jet, if you don't think he was actually a threat to the Empire?"

"It's…complicated," Katara struggles, frowning. "I…you know what, just forget it. He's already dead and you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

She closes herself off, wrapping her arms around herself.

_And in the dungeons below the lake, the freedom fighters struggled…_

"Try us," Zuko challenges, taking a seat by her. Even though she isn't facing him, she can see the outline of his sharp face in her peripheral vision, watching her with cautious intent. "What happened in New Ozai? To Jet's friends?"

And the crazy thing is, she _wants_ to tell him, because only when the words are out of her head do they begin to make a semblance of sense.

"I don't know when it began," she says slowly, "but I only became aware of it when they took one of the boys from Jet's resistance group. A young boy, quiet, skilled with the bow and arrow. We called him Longshot. He disappeared for a couple of weeks, before turning up in a different corner of the school with no recollection of his past and obedient as you could be. This – this was a pattern with anyone who caused too much of a stir, I suppose."

"At the school?"

"Not just the school," Katara says, shaking her head. "Jet's resistance included people on the streets as well, and we'd get reports from them too, describing these cases where people would be plucked off the streets and disappear for days on end. It was quite common in the former Earth kingdom territories."

"What happened to him?" Zuko asks, looking her straight in the eye. "What happened to Longshot?"

"I – I saw them trying to piece it together," Katara answers quietly. "I didn't really involve myself, I just – went wherever Jet went, I suppose but – they'd seen enough, I always thought it was unbelievable, but…" she trails off.

"You're not making much sense," Toph points out uncertainly.

"It was a group called the Dai Li," Katara explains heavily, as it all comes back to her. "They were the cultural agents of Ba Sing Se, but after the annexation of the Earth territories, they became the dominant power controlling the region. All of the minor Earth lords, the royals, anyone with power there, probably has links to the Dai Li and Long Feng, their leader, in one way or another, whether they know it or not. They were charged with maintaining the peace in the former Earth kingdom, and they had a very unorthodox way of doing that."

"Hypnosis," Zuko breathes slowly.

Katara looks at him in surprise.

"Yes," she nods, her tongue suddenly feeling too big in her mouth, "yes, they'd capture people and bring them down to a hideout, deep beneath a lake in the capital – they referred to it as _Lake Laogai_ – and brainwash them."

"So that they wouldn't rebel," Zuko finished for her, his mouth a grim line. "So that they could _maintain the peace_."

He sounds absolutely disgusted.

She nods her head quickly.

"It started that way," she explains, "but sometimes, they would take it further."

" _Further_?" Aang demands, appearing horrified. "How can you take brainwashing _further_?"

"Once they brainwashed someone, they had control over them," Katara details. "They'd use a code phrase – it was the same one for everyone – to bring about the trance – and then would give them orders to carry out. Maybe they would have to fight for them, maybe they would have to steal something. Maybe they would be asked to assassinate someone important. What did it matter to the Dai Li if some nobody was caught in the act?"

Her words ring in the air.

"Are – " Zuko can scarcely believe his ears, "are you implying that the _Dai Li_ tried to have me killed?"

Katara shrugs helplessly.

"I'm not saying anything, I'm just putting two and two together," she answers. "But Jet _was_ brainwashed – you saw how he snapped out of it when I used the phrase to turn off the hypnosis. And he was murdered in cold blood by an extremely skilled assassin, the _minute_ he came close to answering any of our questions. That means he wasn't alone – the Dai Li _must_ have sent one of their own to make sure Jet carried out his mission properly – and wouldn't talk about it afterward." A chill runs down her spine at the thought of it. "And the Dai Li are also notoriously powerful earthbenders – how else can you explain that Toph couldn't sense someone standing _right behind us_ all this time, if they couldn't also manipulate the earth around them?"

" _Agni_ ," Zuko curses under his breath. His face is very pale. "But – but _why_? I understand if a rebel group wanted me dead, but – but _Long Feng_? He became the most powerful man in the Earth colonies thanks to the aftermath of the Conquest. Why would _he_ want me killed?" 

Katara meets his eyes thoughtfully.

"Maybe you should really have a thought about who your enemies really are," she warns him. "And who would gain the most from your death. These things aren't always as straightforward as you'd like them to be."

She would know.

"Yes, but – " Zuko sputters, trying to believe his ears, " _this makes no sense_. Long Feng _knows_ me. He's – he's an _ally_ to my family, to the _Empire_!"

"The Empire is a lot more fragile than it used to be," Katara points out. "Long Feng is an opportunist, from what I understand. Maybe he's trying to sniff out weaknesses within your family." She rolls her eyes. "He's wasting his time. Your grandfather's a picture of health, and so are your uncle and father." A dismissive shrug. "I don't know why he's aiming for the low-hanging fruit in the royal family."

Zuko appears pale and nervous to her eyes, but he ignores the jibe.

"I have to write to my uncle," he mutters softly, as though to himself. He runs an agitated hand through his thick hair. "I have to let him know that this happened. I wish he was here. He would know what to do."

"There's nothing _to do_ ," Toph bursts out in frustration. "The guy got away! Right under _all_ of our noses!"

"It's not your fault, Toph," Aang says to her, not unkindly. "Like Katara said, these guys have probably been pulling the rug out from under earthbenders like yourselves all their lives. You were caught off your guard. We all were."

"But –" Toph appears to Katara as though she's having a crisis of sorts, and she feels the tiniest twinge of sympathy for the headstrong earthbender, "but I'm a _master earthbender_! I'm – I'm one of the _best_ – I can't even _see_ without my bending – and if they got the better of _me_ …what are we really up against?"

"Maybe that's why they have us cross-training together," Aang suggests. "So that we can learn from each other and get an edge on highly skilled, dangerous opponents like the Dai Li."

His words echo slightly in the night air and, for the first time since Jeong-Jeong had assembled them, so many months ago, do they regard each other with anything other than skepticism and uncertainty.

"By a badgermole's left nostril," Toph swears, "I think you're _right_ , Twinkletoes!"

"That… _does_ make sense," Katara agrees slowly, in spite of the giant frown crossing her face. As much as she despises the Fire Empire, she finds the Dai Li and its sinister, controlling ways equally hateful.

"Do you think they knew about the Dai Li before setting this up?" Zuko asks uncertainly. Of the four of them, he appears most shaken, even more so than Katara does, and his hand is clamped over the scarred side of his face. "That this was just another calculated measure for them? Are we really just a _weapon_?"

It sounds _strange_ , _so strange_ , to hear it in Zuko's voice, Katara thinks to herself. She's known all along that they've been expedient to the Empire and its military. But coming from Ozai's only son…

"We're _military_ ," she says, and her voice is more scathing than she intends it to be, "we've _always_ been weapons."

He shakes his head.

"But – but there's a _difference_ ," he protests weakly, and he's facing the ground now, his long thick bangs in his eyes so she can't _read_ the heartbreaking expression on his face, but she _senses_ it with every nerve in her body, she can _feel_ his pulse in her ears, "between being a _soldier_ and being a _tool_ for them to use and discard."

_How can you be so naïve?_

"Sorry to burst your bubble," she says to him instead, and if her voice isn't exactly comforting, at least it isn't as harsh as it is in her mind, "but to your family, they're _exactly the same_."

"Not my uncle," Zuko retorts stubbornly, raising his head to meet her eyes with a renewed intensity that sends shivers ringing down the length of her spine, a flutter in the pit of her stomach as he stares her down without fury or anger, "not Uncle Iroh, he _cares_ about his men, he always has…"

And Katara is weary and Katara is cynical and Katara is hardened by the world around her, but she is not _cruel_.

So instead she shrugs and struggles to pull her gaze away from his.

"If you say so," she mutters half-heartedly, unwilling to argue the matter now.

Because she knows Ozai is a monster, she knows that as a certainty, but _Iroh_ is a different beast altogether, one she still can't quite put a finger on.

"I _know_ so," Zuko insists, and she finds that she can't look away from him, she can't _hate_ him, in this moment she can't, "and if you'd ever met him, you'd know that too."

Because Zuko has rarely ever defended himself and he has never defended his father, but he won't hear a word against his uncle, and that is something, _something_ redeemable in him that Katara can't dismiss.

And he's _still_ staring at her with those strange yellow eyes that are the image of his father's, and yet strangely different at the same time now, warmer and kinder and more intense, and there's a shifting in the wariness in them, as though he is looking at her and thinking about something intently, as though he is trying to puzzle something through –

"You were in New Ozai," he blurts out to her so suddenly that he actually winces when he realizes that he's spoken. "With a rebel group."

Katara is taken aback.

"I guess you could say that," she replies darkly. "I was never actually a rebel, though. Well, not officially. I did what I could to help."

Zuko looks her straight in the eye, and she _sees_ him steeling himself to ask his next question.

"Did you ever meet my father?" he asks her gravely. "While you were there?"

_What on earth?_

" _What_?" she exclaims. "No! Why would you ask that?"

Zuko turns the colour of his crimson bedrobe.

"I – I know he founded the new city on the ruins of Omashu," he explains, "and the way you talk about him – I – I just wondered if you'd ever met him." He looks at her, somewhat apprehensively. "Because everything you've ever said about him is right, you know."

"I – no," Katara insists, shaking her head vehemently, though something inside her glows at his unexpected assessment of her judgment, "no, I've never met him. Thank the stars."

Zuko doesn't answer immediately, but continues to give her a strangely searching stare. It makes her skin crawl and her hair stand on end.

"You've never met him? You're _sure_?"

"Of course I'm sure," she snaps back. To her great chagrin, he sounds _surprised_ at her answer. "Why on _earth_ would I lie about that?"

She hears Zuko mutter something under his breath, something like _well that's that_ , but she doesn't quite catch it.

"And if you don't believe me –"

"I do," he says simply, wearily. "I just – so many things don't make sense to me."

She raises her eyebrows.

"Why would that not make sense?"

He just shrugs and shakes his head.

She wonders what he isn't telling her, but then decides it's none of her business anyway.

"Get some rest," Zuko says, his hands on his temples as though massaging an extremely painful migraine. "It's late. And," he raises his eyes to look at Toph, Aang, and Katara in turn, "thank you, for coming to help me. I would – probably have been dead now if it wasn't for you."

Katara looks away this time. She knows that he is speaking to her, and she knows that he is right.

"What about the body?" Toph asks suddenly, indicating with her head. "We can't just leave it here!"

"Well, you're an earthbender, aren't you?" Katara asks irritably, "can't you just _bury_ him quickly?"

"I – " Zuko looks at Katara nervously, "I know this might be a lot to ask but – I need to show the body to my uncle, whenever he gets here, this – I – it's the only proof I have, besides your word, and maybe he could find clues, something we missed –"

She understands his clumsy request straightaway. There is rage in her, but also the slightest hint of pity.

So she sets her jaw and nods curtly.

Soon enough, they are outside, by the river that winds out of the army base camp and into the canopy of dark trees surrounding them. Aang and a visibly-relieved Zuko have hoisted Jet's body between them and gently lower him into the water.

Katara closes her eyes, raises her hands, and exhales a lungful of ice.

As the water around Jet's body freezes, she says a prayer for him in her mind.

Toph pushes her fists down as she lunges forward. The frozen body is swallowed by the earth.

And then the night is quiet again, dark and silent and misleadingly serene as the four of them stand, shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the spot where Jet's preserved body lies in wait.


	11. the harsh light of day

**disclaimer.** ATLA  & all its associated properties belong to bryke, none of this is mine.

**author's notes.** thank you so much to everyone who's following along and leaving such lovely feedback! reading your thoughts and interpretations and guesses as to where things are going next is honestly the most rewarding feeling after writing each new part of the story...especially when some readers guess correctly! i love it so much, please keep it going! :D

i apologize for the delay (again). this chapter is a little small but was a toughie to write! a warning that it does get a little disturbing near the end and that the rating is up for a reason...

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter xi.** the harsh light of day

* * *

_i could scream myself to sleep_  
_if it would shatter the illusion_  
_but i can’t give in to this  
_ _it’s the noise that makes me human_

“the noise inside my head”/assemblage 23

* * *

In the daylight, everything appears deceptively calm.

It’s as though the previous night’s harrowing events never happened, Katara reflects bitterly at breakfast the next morning. Aside from herself and the three others who sit at her table, _nobody_ else seems affected at all.

A man had been _killed_ last night – murdered, in cold blood, by a complete and total stranger, and the whole bloody camp was none the wiser.

“It’s driving me _crazy_ ,” Toph mutters to herself, sipping on a cup of tea the colour of pitch. “I can’t sense the guy from last night _anywhere_. Whoever he was, he must have done a bunk fairly quickly.”

“We’ve been through this before, Toph,” Aang replies patiently, putting down his own cup. “If one of the Dai Li was in fact involved, they could probably be using _their_ earthbending to evade detection by _your_ earthbending.”

“It’s quite a stretch though,” Zuko points out. Of the four of them, he looks the worst. His face, haggard and gaunt in the light, is paler than usual, so that the dark circles under his eyes stick out like bruises. His hair looks like it had never heard of a comb. “Unless the Dai Li _always_ use their earthbending to avoid detection by other earthbenders, I don’t see why they would do so. Unless they knew Toph was here.”

“How would they even _know_ who I am? I mean, I know I’m good, but I’m hardly _famous_.” Toph rolls her sightless eyes and pops a piece of bread into her mouth.

“You’re a Beifong, aren’t you? Your father must have connections to the Dai Li, and it isn’t exactly private information that you’re the master earthbender here,” Aang reasons.

“The Dai Li have ears _everywhere_ ,” Katara speaks up. Her food before her is untouched. “If they arranged a hit on Zuko, for whatever reason, you can bet they took _exhaustive_ precautions to make sure they were ready for any of us.”

_And they were_ , she thinks to herself darkly. Even though they hadn’t carried out their assassination, they had escaped with barely a trace, leaving the four of them with unanswered questions and a single dead body to bury.

Now Jet was gone, gone away to a place where he couldn’t answer any of their questions, where he couldn’t reveal the identity and purpose of his puppeteers.

And in his place, the prince of the Fire Empire lives and breathes to see another day 

Life, she reminds herself, is patently unfair.

* * *

Apart from a throwaway comment remarking upon how tired the four of them look, Jeong-Jeong doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

He has them spar together in a melee for the first hour of cross-training. By now, Toph has lost her obvious advantage. Aang has become a tad more aggressive, Zuko more powerful, and Katara more agile.

Now, when Toph bends the earth beneath their feet, Katara is able to evade the blow, moving light like an airbender to stay on her feet and form her next attack with precision.

When Aang sends half the sky whipping in her direction to throw her off-balance, she uses the force of her water to launch herself eight feet into the air, to knock the airbender off of his little air-scooter and back onto the ground where he no longer has an advantage.

When she lands, she is strong in her feet, the way the earthbenders are, so that when Zuko bends a plume of flame at her, she is able to keep herself rooted to the ground.

And when she counters with an attack of her own, she breathes the way the firebenders do, feeling the chi move within her and propel her water into a jet of fearsome power, one she surely would not have been able to produce three months earlier.

Water and fire fizzle out in a hissing of steam that leaves the both of them temporarily blinded.

Toph senses an opening and lifts. The ground beneath Zuko and Katara ripples and forces itself _up_ with alarming speed, sending the two of them flying into the air.

Katara orients herself first, pulling her limbs close in to control her center of gravity. Twisting her wrists with a sharp motion, she draws half the river up and it rises to meet her, swirling in a twenty-five-foot tall whirlpool to support her weight easily.

A rush of heat grazes by her face. She turns her head. Some distance away, Zuko hovers with some difficulty, the force of the flames emitting from his open palms keeping him suspended in the air.

He’s facing Toph, however, and she realizes that he has stumbled across the same idea that she has.

After all, as long as they’re off the ground, Toph can’t see them.

For once, they have her at a disadvantage.

Katara has her element under greater control, however, and it is she who charges first. Controlling the direction of the giant whirlpool, she bears down closer to Toph, moving a mile a minute, her water moving with the force of a great waterfall –

Toph sends a boulder flying at her, and Katara is forced to veer off-course, careening bodily into Zuko as he descends unsteadily with his twin bursts of flame.

The shock catches both of them and her whirlpool collapses to the ground and his fire puffs out in a cloud of smoke as, limb tangled in limb, both of them begin to fall to the ground.

There’s no time to curse, no time to speak, no time to _think_.

She’s dimly aware of the world rolling around her, of his knees digging into the small of her back, of her head caught between his stomach and his arms. They tumble through the air together, head over heels, the ground coming closer to meeting them with every passing second.

It is Zuko who gains his bearings first.

They are perilously close to hitting the ground when he sharply inhales and jettisons a ferocious blast of fire through the soles of his feet, launching himself back into the air, and Katara with him.

She flexes her fingers experimentally before pulling at the remnants of her water, now puddles lining the ground. They coil together into a single long rope, which she wraps around her wrist and snaps against the ground. The force of it propels the two of them further back in the air.

They achieve an unspoken rhythm – Zuko using the force of his firebending in concert with the push of Katara’s water whip against the ground, to slowly, awkwardly, elevate themselves to an advantageous position in the air from which to mount an offensive.

In later moments, Katara will not be able to say how this unspoken synchrony occurred. She isn’t sure if he said a word or she gave a signal or a gesture, _anything_. Only that one moment, they are balanced precariously between their combined elements, and the next, both of them are plummeting to the ground and surging forward, moving, attacking, _breathing_ as one.

The geyser that bursts forth from their combined attacks to knock Toph off her feet and rolling into the ground is as much a surprise to the two of them as it is to the blind earthbender.

“ _Hey_!” Toph protests weakly, through a mouthful of dirt. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

A slow, clapping sound echoes across the arena.

Katara and Zuko look up to see an applauding Jeong-Jeong approaching them. He wears a small, triumphant smile, and his eyes regard them with nothing short of pride.

“ _That_ , Sifu Toph,” he says with emphasis, “was the fruit of our labours.”

Katara feels strange. As she looks around in the bright daylight and sees the last wisps of steam float away into the sky, she has the strangest sensation of being out of her body and slowly settling back in.

Now that she’s back on the ground and the danger has passed, she looks down to regard her hands, expecting to see them charred or twisted or _different_ , somehow. But the skin on her hands is still chestnut brown and smooth, and when she wiggles her fingers, the water on the ground twitches.

“I don’t understand,” she says hoarsely. “What –“

“Sometimes,” Jeong-Jeong explains and he cannot hide the pride suffused in his voice, “a bender with enough power and talent can create something entirely new. The legends speak of Avatars who were able to manipulate not just fire, earth, water, and air, but also metals and lava and thunderstorms.” He shrugs, casting a quizzical glance at Zuko and Katara, who are inching away from each other with every passing word. “I did not expect any of you to achieve such synchronization to be able to _come close_ to producing such an effect – especially not the two of you, given your turbulent history. It fills me with pride to learn that you have put aside those differences for now.”

“We have?” Zuko interjects, casting a cautious, if not somewhat nervous glance at Katara.

Something inside her stirs. It’s feebler than she remembers, but the old anger still burns.

“We have _not_ ,” she insists. “I – I don’t know how I could – with _him_ –“

It felt like sharing, sharing too much, and she _never_ agreed to that. Maybe she doesn’t want him dead, but that doesn’t mean that she’s ready to let him in, to trust him with a part of her in exchange for a part of him and turn it into something completely different and unexpected.

Not with _him_.

It had felt invasive, compromising, almost _violating_ …

And yet, she had embraced it with all of her mind and body, had surrendered to it on pure instinct, had welcomed the discovery and harmonized with it.

And that she can’t accept.

“It is clear to me that this was a shock to you, Sifu Katara,” Jeong-Jeong says in response to Katara’s outburst. “Whatever you feel now, however, does not change the fact that you and Prince Zuko successfully fused your bending to create a new type of bending. Perhaps of equal note, if you recall, was how the two of you were able to combine your firebending and waterbending to stay afloat and maintain your aerial advantage over Sifu Toph. It was a truly impressive display. In all my years, and there are far more than I care to admit, I have never seen anything quite like it.”

Jeong-Jeong reminds her so much of Pakku: so quick to anger, so reticent with approval. His praise should fill her with pride. On any other day, it probably would have.

But today, she is fit to burst with all the incoherent contradictions rampaging in her mind of which she can no longer make any sense.

“If this is what you are capable of without even _attempting_ to resolve your differences,” Jeong-Jeong continues slowly, his mouth stern but his eyes still warm, “I only wonder what you can accomplish if you try.”

He dismisses them for the day.

Zuko walks away without even looking at her. The set of his shoulders is very rigid, and his fists are clenched tight.

She doesn’t know what he expected. To be frank, _she_ doesn’t even know how to behave around him anymore.

She should hate him. She _wants_ to hate him.

But now she realizes she doesn’t, and the guilt is eating her alive.

Behind her, Aang and Toph evade her gaze. She sees the disappointment in Aang’s eyes.

_Who are you to judge me?_

She turns on her heel and storms off, scarcely paying attention to the world around her.

Guilt and anger are at war within her.

_Firebenders are the enemy._

_Firebenders destroyed my home and killed my parents._

_Firebenders took me away from Sokka and put me in a colonial school._

_Jet saved me from the colonial school._

_Firebenders took me away from Jet and sent me to Pakku._

_Pakku sent me here to Zuko._

_Zuko is a firebender._

_Zuko is kind to me._

_Zuko means me no harm._

_Zuko_ protects _me from other firebenders._

_But firebenders are the enemy._

_And Zuko is the enemy._

_Zuko was almost killed by Jet._

_Jet was killed by the Dai Li, because they wanted to kill Zuko._

_Jet is dead because I helped Zuko instead of him._

_Jet is dead because I helped the enemy instead of him._

A wolf-whistle and a crow of laughter filter through her whirling thoughts, breaking her out of her reverie.

“What’s the rush, pole girl?” Chan inquires insolently. He stands in front of her, directly blocking her path and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Ruon-Jian and Hide close in on her on either side, arresting her motion forward or sideways.

Belatedly, Katara realizes that she’s stumbled into a circle of her least favourite people within the camp. Behind her is a small audience of Chan’s friends, an assortment of firebenders and non-bending soldiers.

Heart pounding in her chest, Katara ignores Chan and tries to walk around him.

He grabs her by the wrist and flings her back.

She lands on the ground amidst the jeers of the crowd behind her, with less grace than she’d have liked.

“I _said_ ,” he repeats more slowly, a leer crossing his handsome face, “what’s the _rush_?”

Her cheeks flush angrily as she struggles to get to her feet. Her muscles hurt from her exertions at cross-training earlier, and her mind and emotions are everywhere at once following the events of the night before.

Katara is at the breaking point of her very last nerve. Chan was a nuisance and a piss-poor firebender to boot, she knows, but he’d gone and laid a hand on her and now he’s gone _too far_.

“Get out of my way,” she tells him in a low, menacing voice.

A chorus of titters greet her words.

“Or _what_?” Chan taunts her.

He’s stripped off his shirt by now, and he leans into an offensive firebending stance that she recognizes all too well by now.

_This is a bad idea_ , a lone voice in her head whispers, before she pushes it aside.

Chan has _no right_ to harass her this way. He is _literally asking for it_.

Katara responds by silently uncorking her waterskin at her side and streaming her water out in front of her at the ready. She chooses a much more aggressive stance than she would have selected had she been in view of Aang or Jeong-Jeong.

“Or else she’ll splash you with some water, Chan!” Ruon-Jian calls out, to a chorus of laughter. “That’s all waterbenders are good for!”

Chan carelessly lobs a fireball in her direction, deliberately missing her face by half a foot.

She doesn’t flinch, but merely follows the motion of the fire with her eyes.

“Your aim could use some work, Chan,” she comments tonelessly.

A muscle twitches in his jaw at her words, and his handsome face is suddenly ugly.

“Don’t you dare talk down to _me_ , colonial _scum_ ,” he spits, taking a step closer to her.

“Or what?” Katara snorts disdainfully, throwing caution to the wind and damning the consequences, because she’s just _itching_ , _itching_ to show these firebending _bastards_ that they can’t just do what they want, not to _her_ , not now. “You’ll bend a couple of pathetic smokestacks at me and miss again?”

The next fireball comes hurtling for her face, but its trail is slow and predictable. After months of training, Chan’s skills are no match for her reflexes, and she lazily blocks him with a swish of her water.

“You think you’re so _important_ ,” Chan hisses at her. “But just you wait. Watch your back, waterbender, because I’m _watching_ you, and I’ll get you, right when you least expect it.”

“Was that a threat?” Katara inquires, raising an eyebrow. “If so, why wait? You have me right here, in front of your little audience. If you think you can hurt me, come and try.”

His hesitation adds fuel to the wave of recklessness consuming her.

“Unless _you’re_ the one who’s really scared,” she hears herself goad.

Her words strike a nerve as Chan lets out a yell and barrels toward her.

She waits until the last second before she leaps out of the way, easily dodging his headlong tackle and ensuing blast of fire. Landing lightly on her toes, she turns and watches him insolently as he clambers to his feet, red-faced and panting.

His arms rotate at the shoulders and he attempts a spinning kick, fire erupting from the sole of his extended foot. The force he achieves would have impressed her some time ago, but months of sparring with Zuko leave her underwhelmed with his prowess.

She sidesteps his attack and, with offensively deliberate ease, sends him flying six feet into the air with a well-timed snap of her water whip.

He lands on his feet and charges at her.

She freezes the water beneath his feet and sends him sliding and crashing to the ground.

“What’s the matter, Chan?” she asks impudently, dropping her water and tossing her long braid over her shoulder. “I thought you were going to teach me a lesson. This isn’t even a fight.”

Chan spits out a mouthful of what looks like blood, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“For a peasant of a waterbender, you fight a lot like a firebender,” he says to her. “Who taught you that? The guys who gave you those scars?”

She tilts her head quizzically and raises an eyebrow.

“Scars, what scars?”

“Oh, come on now, _everyone_ knows.” Chan’s face twists into a grin that is almost feral. “The ones that look like burns, but they’re shaped like handprints – “

Katara feels as though the bottom has dropped out of her stomach. Chan, sensing that he’s struck a nerve, continues maliciously.

“ – and you’ve got them everywhere, and when I say that, I mean _everywhere_ –“

_How does he know?_

But the answer comes to her almost instantly as she remembers that day, just shortly after her arrival at the camp, when she and Toph had overheard someone spying on them while they were bathing…

She’d since put the memory of that incident out of her mind, assuming that whoever it was hadn’t seen much, or that Toph had knocked the fear of God into them in retaliation.

But _this_ is a new low, _this_ is a violation of her privacy of a nature that she hasn’t felt in a very long time. Not since several years ago, when she was still young and in the colonial school and surrounded by leering firebenders with other children from the water tribes, some her ages, some younger –

“How did you get them, anyway?” Chan presses on, oblivious to the gathering storm within Katara. “I mean, those are awfully private spots. Did they force themselves on you or did you _let_ them touch you there?”

He presses his hands to his chest, along his torso, in mocking demonstration.

The old shame consumes her. The guilt. The terror. The hatred. It swells inside her, so that she can barely hear the filth pouring out of Chan’s mouth.

“Know what I think? I think you _let_ them. I think you’ve fucked more firebenders than anyone else in this division. And what’s more, you probably _enjoyed_ it, you water tribe _slut_.”

Chan turns to face his crowd of onlookers, who wear grins large enough to match his own.

“Who’s with me?”

They jeer in response.

Katara can’t see, Katara can’t think, Katara can’t do anything except _feel_.

The racing of Chan’s heart, the flow of his blood inside his veins, pulsing back and forth in his nervous, earnest excitement. It pounds in her ears, dominating her senses, and her fingers twitch, _itching_ , _urging_ her to just –

_Kill_.

She raises her head sharply, to meet his eyes with her own.

The shit-eating grin slips off of Chan’s face in the space of a heartbeat.

Everything goes silent.

Then, Katara _charges_.

She bears down upon him with the speed and ferocity of a rampaging moose-lion, and he doesn’t even have a moment to defend himself before she tackles him to the ground.

Despite his obvious size advantage, she’s learned enough from Suki and Toph to keep him pinned down, without a struggle.

_Now you’re at_ my _mercy_.

She punches him repeatedly, and he doesn’t stand a chance.

_Except firebender scum like you don’t deserve my mercy._

_Not now. Not ever._

Her fist connects with his jaw and the crack is audible.

Chan lets out a howl of pain, and his hands scrabble at her, grabbing at her arms, her shoulders, struggling to push her off –

She grabs his hands and _twists_ , immobilizing them with brutal efficiency, before she wraps her hands around his neck and _squeezes –_

_Kill them all._

Footsteps pound on the ground behind her, approaching her, and then she feels more hands, trying to pull her away –

She inhales and throws her arms up into the air around her.

The water seeping into the ground around her springs back into the air and forms into a ring around her, where she sits. In the blink of an eye, her assailants have been thrown back, away from her.

_And what’s more, you probably_ enjoyed _it, you water tribe slut…_

Chan’s words echo in her ears as she mercilessly forces the water into his mouth, down his throat and into his lungs.

She hears him choking and coughing, _but he’ll stop breathing soon enough_ , she already can _feel_ the flow of his blood, slowing, and then –

_And maybe then, you’ll wish you learned to fear the waterbenders._

Her hands clench shut and the ribs surrounding his lungs _crack_ , as the water inside him ripples and expands.

Chan’s scream never leaves his throat. There’s too much water for the sound to form.

_Because fire won’t save you from drowning_.

It hadn’t saved the guards back in New Ozai, and it won’t save Chan either.

But then, she realizes, too late –

Hands, strong, firm, unyielding hands grab her by the arms, shoulders, waist, even by her ill-fitting tunic, and they _drag_ her backward, before she has a chance to struggle –

Her arms are twisted and pinioned behind her back, and through the rush of blood in her ears, she thinks she hears someone yelling her name.

She tries to pull her hands free, but the grip on her wrists is like stone –

“ _Katara, Katara, stop –_ “

More cuffs, now on her feet, and she lurches forward, falling to her knees –

“ _Hold her still, while we assess the damage –_ “

Voices, above her, fading in and out of earshot, arguing. One is high-pitched and positively crazed, the other low and gravelly.

“She almost killed Chan, she’s _crazy_ –“

“Chan provoked her in a deliberate and cruel fashion –“

“That doesn’t mean she could _attack_ him like that! She’s like a rabid dog that needs to be put down –“

“What did he _think_ would happen to him by angering one of the most dangerous benders in the army? He’s _lucky_ he isn’t dead, with brains like that –”

_Dangerous. Lucky._

She lets out a breath.

Before her, Chan is supine on the ground, stirring feebly. His eyes are closed and his face is pale. An officer dressed in red kneels over him.

“He needs medical attention, immediately,” the officer says urgently. “Careful while lifting him, otherwise we might lose him. His lungs sound like they’ve been ruptured, and he’s got more than one broken rib.”

The words wash over her. Inside, she feels hollow.

The earth around her rumbles and forms itself into a makeshift stretcher. Chan is gently deposited onto it, and borne out of her sight, toward the medical tents.

She realizes the pulse echoing in her ears is now her own.

“What do we do with _this one_?”

A foot kicks at her.

“Teach her a lesson!” yelps Ruon-Jian, whose voice is unrecognizable to Katara’s ears, it is so high-pitched in its fear. “Make sure this _freak_ never bends again!”

“We’re not making a cripple out of her. That will solve nothing.” A pause, and Katara feels herself being hoisted to her feet.

Her ankles are bound in rock cuffs, and she raises her eyes.

Her heart drops as she meets Toph’s angry, sightless eyes. The earthbender’s hands are shaking slightly, but she holds the stone cuffs firm around her legs and wrists.

“You’re _fucked up_ , Sugar Queen,” Toph spits in her face, shaking her head. “You’re fucked up _good_. What you did to that guy – _spirits_ , what on _earth_ is _wrong_ with you, you need _help_ –“

A tattooed hand places itself on Toph’s shoulder.

“Don’t,” says Aang’s voice, and Katara notices that Aang is shaking too, but he won’t meet her eyes, he won’t even _look_ at her, “don’t waste your time, Toph. I wish I hadn’t.”

She is too far-gone to even feel the hurt.

“Take the waterbender to the prison hold and lock her up,” commands the presiding officer. His voice is flat and without intonation. “Keep her there in isolation until we can determine an appropriate course of action with her superiors.”

Katara is dragged away.

The firebenders around her give her a wide berth now.

Ruon-Jian stands toe-to-toe with Zuko, but while the former averts his eyes, the latter meets her gaze impassively. His scarred face is inscrutable, and that, perhaps, is for the best.

After all, it isn’t every day that she weighs herself against the fire prince and realizes that maybe, just _maybe_ , the real monster is _her_.

* * *

**author's notes.**...yeah...to everyone expecting a happy ending here, i'm sorry.

i'm awful. i know.

although...next chapter is for anyone ready to see katara FINALLY come face to face with all her inner prejudices. so...holler if you're ready for that!


	12. white lotus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara is brought before the General to answer for her actions.

**disclaimer.** ATLA & its associated content are property of bryke and i derive no financial gain from writing this.

**author's notes.** whew! this chapter was a toughie to write. i had to really play with the structure in order to get everything across in a semi-coherent manner...and even then i don't think i was entirely successful. ah, whatever.

thank you so much to everyone who's been following along! it really means a lot to me when you guys get involved and invested in the writing, and i only hope that the payoff is worth it.

just a quick(?) aside before getting back into the story: many of you have commented on the way the narrative treats katara unfairly, as well as the reactions of aang and toph in the previous chapter seeming somewhat jarring and unfounded. while i leave it to the story to defend itself, i would just like to make a couple of things absolutely clear:

1) i  _do not intend_ to have this story defend or glamourize the oppressive actions of the fire empire, or devolve into victim-blaming. a major theme in this story is colonization, and the way the conflicts within the story are presented are in keeping with the reality of such imbalanced power structures. look at every day instances of people in positions of lesser privilege or oppression, and the way their complaints are silenced and shut down by hostile institutions and allies alike. frankly, if as a reader, you are outraged by the way katara is being treated in this story, then the narrative is doing its job in successfully depicting both the unpleasant realities of colonization and oppression, and the less-than-ideal behaviour from all parties (including the oppressors, oppressed, and bystanders/allies).  

2) this is a story that, while fictional, mirrors a lot of what's going on in real life. i've drawn a lot of inspiration from historical assimilations of indigenous populations as well as current sociopolitical movements in the western world. this includes the wide range of reactions people have to such movements. toph and aang, for example, are meant to embody the type of allies who, while well-meaning and sympathetic to the cause of individual oppression, have never actually experienced it themselves due to their relative privilege and thus, when confronted with the very real anger, disruption, and violence that often forms the core of such movements, tend to shut down, back away, or suddenly lose a lot of their sympathy. (we see this play out in canon, when aang is unable to understand katara's need for closure and vengeance against the southern raiders, while toph has been seen to steadily lose patience with katara's frustration in recent chapters). _this is not meant as an indictment of either character_ , but more an indication of the growth every character in the story will have to undergo in order to be their best selves. at this point in the story, katara is not an "ideal victim" and does not behave as such. toph, aang, zuko, and even mai, are imperfect individuals who come from very different places and range in their abilities to recognize katara's distress, empathize with it, and help her confront it in a supportive way. how this happens is the subject of future chapters.

...okay so i lied, that was not quick at all BUT i felt it was important to be absolutely clear about where this is coming from and where this is going to go.

anyway, moving on.

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter xii.** white lotus

* * *

  _passion chokes the flower ‘till she cries no more_  
_possessing all the beauty, hungry still for more_  
_heaven holds a sense of wonder and i wanted to believe_  
_that i’d get caught up when the rage in me subsides_

“silence”/delirium

* * *

Katara’s cell is a small stone square with a heavy metal door. The small line of light peeping through the bottom of the door is her only light. Otherwise, it is cold, dark, and cramped. In the corner lies a scratchy straw mattress with a thin, raggedy blanket for her to sleep on.

It reminds her unsettlingly of her days back in New Ozai.

The wash basin and chamberpot are kept outside her cell, which is under guard every hour of the day. When bodily need outweighs her pride and dignity, she calls for them.

Her wrists and ankles are clapped together in irons, and when it is time for her meals, three guards hold her down and feed her, lest she try use the water in her cup and in her thin gruel as a weapon to break free.

But they needn’t have bothered with soldiers and shackles.

Shame is a far more effective captor.

* * *

_Dear Sokka,_

_I wish I had better news for you. But right now, I’m imprisoned at a Fire Empire military base._

_And the worst part is, I think I deserve it._

* * *

_((THE SOUTH POLE: NINE YEARS AGO))_

She used to tell herself it began with the snow.

In the years to come, however, she realizes it began long before that.

She had been young, far too young to understand such things. But certain things she remembers with burning lucidity.

She remembers the arrival of the men in green, and with them, the promise of war.

She remembers the sounds of her village awakening at daybreak, how the crackling of the cookfires and creaking of the longboats changed to the sounds of men shouting and drilling and sharpening their weapons.

Most of all, she remembers the lines around her father’s eyes, the anxiety in her mother’s face as they argued long into the night.

The feeling of Sokka’s hand on her shoulder as they listened quietly at the crack of the door. Heard their mother try to convince their father to send the children away, now, while they still could. Heard their father insist that it was safer here, among their own people. No one outside the borders could be trusted in these times, anyway.

And so Katara had believed, though she and Sokka could never quite shake the feeling of mounting unease that had gripped their home.

And then, one unremarkable day, while running outside pelting snowballs at Sokka, along where the ice met the ocean, it began.

First came the snow, black with soot.

Then came the ships, row by row, far as the eye could see.

And then, horror.

* * *

_You’re probably wondering what I did that was so bad, and, well, I suppose if I were to tell you, I don’t even know if you’d agree with me. War is war and we were soldiers long before we were people._

* * *

_((PRESENT DAY))_

It’s the smell of the fire that stays with her the longest.

Sometimes she catches it, still, a wisp of memory fleeting from consciousness as she awakens from a particularly bad dream.

In her dreams, she is still eight years old, hiding behind Sokka’s fur-lined parka, watching the ice floes drift by their little cell window, feeling the air outside the iron steamship change as it carries them further and further away from the South Pole.

Sometimes she is nine years old, and sitting in a dark room with the other ten-year-old water tribe children her age. In her dreams, it looks like a prison cell, and when the guards discipline them with glowing orange fire in their hands, the screams still sound real. The memory of heat of their hands burning through cloth and skin and flesh often wakes her in the night, though by now she has learned not to scream.

Sometimes she is ten and learning how to heal, furtively, during the days when the school staff was away to celebrate Fire Empire holidays, like Conquest Day and Day of the Dragons. She paces from bed to bed in the sick bay, cautiously applying water to one burn after another. She grows used to scars, ugly disfiguring weeping scars, that crisscross the bodies of her fellow classmates. She learns to ignore the stench of infection, the odour of death. She steels herself against the sight of dead children, carelessly tossed into crudely dug graves in the school backyard.

* * *

_But what if I was to tell you that I almost killed someone today? Someone who was a firebender, and who harassed me nonstop for months on end, and who got off on saying the most vile, disgusting things about me? Who even confessed to spying on me while I bathed, and then making fun of my scars?_

_Would you think I was wrong if I told you I wanted him dead for that?_

_Or would you think I was wrong for feeling sorry that I did?_

* * *

_((NEW OZAI: FOUR YEARS AGO))_

At times, she is thirteen and sneaking into her brother’s room. Sokka nurses his left side, which is covered in oozing burns. Another welt is bright red down one of his cheeks. As a fifteen-year-old boy, he remains defiant and a popular target for the school staff during public disciplining rituals. She remembers purifying his wounds, drawing the reeking pus collecting within his burns and clearing the sluggish blood from infection and disease. She remembers asking him if they would ever see home again. She remembers wondering if they were both going to die there, like most of their other classmates who had perished of sickness and malnourishment and complications from their burns.

Sometimes, Sokka even answers her. She likes those nights best, when she can hear his voice, clear as the last time she’d seen him, and feel his grip on her hand, still so very strong despite his wounds, as he promises her vehemently that yes, they would live.

“But Sokka,” Katara interjects then, on the verge of tears, “ _how?_ How can you say that when they’re _so cruel_ to us?”

“We’ll find a way,” Sokka insists, his eyes big and bright blue, just like hers, trained on her. “I’m the last warrior in the Southern Water Tribe, and you’re our last bender. Those Fire Empire bastards don’t stand a chance against us.”

His false bravado fails to move her.

“But there’s only two of us against all of them,” she argues, feeling the futility of it all settle over her. “What can we do? They want us all _dead_ and I don’t even know why. Why do they hate us so much, Sokka?”

A single tear escapes her eyes and trails a path lazily down her cheek.

Sokka struggles into an upright position and reaches out a hand to gently wipe the tear away.

“Because,” he tells her simply, “it’s easier to hate than to change.”

She never forgets the way he feels in her arms when she hugs him.

* * *

_Truth is, I have no idea what you’d think. You’ve been gone for so long, and I’ve been going on, living life without you, growing without you, trying to look for you but never finding you._

_I miss you. I wish you were here. You’re all I have left and without you, I feel lost and alone and so confused. It’s hard enough to tell right from wrong when everything’s been so fucked up, and sometimes…sometimes I need my big brother to tell me what to do._

* * *

_((NEW OZAI: THREE YEARS AGO))_

More often than not, she is fourteen, kneeling in the snow outside the school.

She’s staring blankly at the footprints Sokka left behind, and the boomerang that he’d dropped.

To this day, she cannot decide if she is happy that he escaped, or angry that he left her behind.

* * *

_But that doesn’t fly either. In the end, I’m responsible for the decisions I make, whether they’re good or bad. And even though my moral compass isn’t exactly the soundest right about now, I think I can recognize a monster when I see one._

_Yes, Chan was awful. He’s the type of person you would have_ hated _. I don’t know what you would have done to him if you’d heard the way he was talking to me. Maybe you’d have beaten him up as badly as I did._

_Maybe you’d have done worse._

* * *

_((NEW OZAI: TWO YEARS AGO))_

“You’re new around here,” says the tall boy with the messy chestnut hair and impudent, dark eyes. He leans against the doorframe with languishing ease, chewing on a weed of some sort, as he eyes her up and down with undisguised interest.

“I suppose you could say that,” Katara replies, her face giving nothing away. By now, she is fifteen and alone and no stranger to the attentions of men.

“I could keep an eye out for you,” the boy continues evenly. The weed in his mouth moves up and down as he speaks. “I know some people, people who shake things up around here. No one would bother you if you stuck with me. If you want.”

“That’s very kind,” Katara acquiesces, feeling the hollowness consume her but steeling her nerve. She meets his eyes. “What’s your price?”

Jet straightens, drawing himself to his full height. She is not exactly small, but he towers over her as he slowly saunters up to her. He pulls the weed out of his mouth and tosses it carelessly to the ground.

Then he pulls her face to his and kisses her forcefully.

* * *

_After all, it’s a kill-or-be-killed world out there, and firebenders are the enemy. After what they did to us, does it really matter that I almost killed one of the enemy?_

* * *

_((NEW OZAI: TWO YEARS AGO))_

Her last year in New Ozai is a blur to her. True to his word, Katara is no longer subjected to the same bodily indignities as before.

Instead, she’s traded the fresh burns for bruises in the shape of Jet’s fingerprints.

She harbours no illusions about him, or the nature of their relationship. His kisses are brutal and his touch is rough and he makes disparaging comments about the burn scars lining her torso and back.

But he keeps her safe, and that’s all that really matters.

So she uses him and he uses her and it doesn’t bother her so much, as long as she’s alive.

* * *

_Once upon a time I might have said yes. Once upon a time,_ you _might have said yes._

* * *

_((NEW OZAI: ONE YEAR AGO))_

When she’s sent at last to the military academy, Jet says he’ll miss her.

She doesn’t return the lie.

* * *

_But maybe I’m misremembering you. Because you were strong and tough and fiercely loyal to us, but you were never cruel like them. You were angry, but never hateful._

_I, on the other hand... I’m not proud of what I’ve done._

_What I did to Chan was no less wrong than what the firebenders did to us._

_Why, even Prince Zuko - yes, the fire lord’s son – even he wanted to spare Jet, and this was after Jet had tried to assassinate him in the middle of the night._

_And if that’s what Ozai’s son would do, then…what does that make me?_

* * *

_((CRESCENT ISLAND: ONE YEAR AGO))_

“Waterbending is not for girls,” Master Pakku tells her flatly. “They must have made some mistake, sending you here to me.”

“Great,” Katara snaps at him. “Then you can go train the _other_ waterbenders the Fire Empire sends you. Since there are _so many_ of us left.”

By now, the polar invasions and brutal assimilation tactics have rendered the Water Tribes to a fraction of its former population. Waterbenders are rare to find now, and good ones rarer.

Pakku is set in his ways but he is not blind.

“If you can’t keep up with my students, then I can’t help you,” he barks at her at last. “I’m not making any exceptions for you.”

* * *

_I want to be angry, Sokka, I want to fight. I want to hold on to vengeance for our family, and hatred for the people who did this to us._

_But I’ve tried and tried and now, I’m not really angry anymore._

_I’m just…tired._

* * *

_((CRESCENT ISLAND: A FEW MONTHS AGO))_

By the year’s end, she has become his favourite student.

* * *

_It’s like I’m dragging this great big weight around, and I’m doing it because I think it keeps me strong, but all it does is weigh me down. It’s exhausting._

_And I…I don’t like who I’m becoming, Sokka._

_I don’t think you would, either._

_Whatever you think, whether what I did was right or wrong, or good or bad, or justified or not, I…I think you would be sad if you saw me like this._

* * *

_((CRESCENT ISLAND: A FEW MONTHS AGO))_

When she leaves for the Fire Empire Army, he gives her a small cloth bag.

It contains a small, nondescript wooden tile, carved with a white lotus.

* * *

_I think it would break your heart._

* * *

_((PRESENT))_

The door to her cell slams open.

Katara stirs, blinking slowly, before shielding her face against the bright light pouring in from the hallway.

How long has she been here? A day? A week? A fortnight? She’s lost count. There have been no hallmarks by which to measure time in her solitary confinement.

“Get up,” commands a soldier’s rough voice.

Blinking, she attempts to look up again.

Four guards, silhouetted against the doorway, have entered her cell. She can’t make out their faces and the one man’s voice does not sound familiar to her.

She opens her mouth, to try and ask a question. It’s tough, when her mouth is so dry.

She wants to ask them what’s going on, but only a word or two make it past the fortress of her lips.

“You’re being summoned,” the guard tells her curtly. “Best get a move on, waterbender.”

She struggles to sit up. For the last eternity, it seems, she’s been lying on her straw pallet in a listless daze, lost in her thoughts. Her captors haven’t starved her exactly, but after the dark and the cold and the meager rations, her body feels weak and strangely resistant to her attempts at motion.

The world sways in front of her.

“Could I have a hand?” Katara manages to ask.

She can’t see the expressions on their faces, but two of them oblige and haul her up, all the same.

“We’re going to remove the shackles on your legs,” one of the guards tells her firmly. “Can you walk?”

Katara shifts her weight experimentally. Her legs feel like jelly, but they still support her.

“I think so,” she answers uncertainly.

“Hold still, then,” the guard orders. He produces a key and kneels down. A clink later, the heavy irons fall free of her ankles.

“Thank you,” Katara says gratefully.

The guard gets back up again and looks at her sternly.

“I hope you know that we’ve been given strict orders to escort you where you’re needed to go,” he says to her bluntly. “If you even _try_ to bend, we’ve been instructed to use whatever means necessary to subdue you.”

Katara nods, her face downcast.

“I understand,” she whispers.

“Good. Now, follow me.”

The guards march her out of her cell, through the dank hallway lit with glowing, firelit torches in iron sconces mounted on the wall, and up a set of roughly-hewn stone steps. The one who’d talked to her leads the way. Two flank her on either side, and the last one walks steadily behind her.

“Where are we going?” Katara wonders out loud, as the stairs level out and they head outside.

“The General wants to see you,” the guard in front of her says flatly.

_Oh_.

Katara hasn’t even _thought_ about what it would be like to face them.

General Shinu and – _and Master Jeong-Jeong_ , she realizes with a sickening feeling in her stomach. Her commanding officers, who had treated her with respect, and whom she’d learned to respect in turn.

She knows now, that she’s probably being summoned for a disciplinary hearing of sorts, perhaps a sentencing.

And yet, the threat of punishment doesn’t fill her with dread half as much as does the idea of seeing the disappointment in Jeong-Jeong’s eyes at her actions.

But the guards flanking her march squarely on, and so, she drags her feet onward.

They march her through the camp, and she keeps her eyes fixed straight ahead of her. The others are out and about, and she doesn’t know what to do if she finds herself face-to-face with someone she knows.

She doesn’t know how to deal with them bearing witness to her shame.

_I made a mistake and I’m sorry. Please._

They march her into a tent that looks like General Shinu’s grand pavilion. The guard in front of her holds the entrance flap aside for her to let her pass, and the others guide her through the foyer toward another doorway on the left.

She dimly hears a low murmur of conversation beyond the curtain, before it too is pulled back and she is led through it, into the room within to face judgment.

The sight that greets her is not exactly what she expected.

It reminds her of the war council room, but the windows are bigger and daylight pours in, bathing the room in a warm and cheerful glow. There are ornamental vases and paintings and scrolls lining the walls, artful arrangements of exotic-looking plants decorating the corners. The table in the middle of the room is much smaller than the war council table, and in the fireplace, a pot of tea simmers away.

Behind her, the guard clears his throat, and the men sitting at the table look up.

There are a handful of them: high-ranking, commanding officers, some of whom she recognizes from war council meetings. Long-winded Captain Shu is seated next to a handsome man in a navy uniform, while Jeong-Jeong sits slightly apart, garbed in a simple dark cotton cloak. His face remains mean and flinty and gives nothing away.

To her surprise, General Shinu is not occupying the high seat of honour at the head of the table. That highest honour has been accorded to the person sitting next to him: an old man with a kind face, who Katara does not recognize.

“We have brought you Katara the waterbender,” the guard behind her announces.

General Shinu turns his attention away from the kindly old man sitting next to him. His eyes sweep over her face, and they narrow only slightly.

“Thank you,” he says shortly, nodding at the guards behind her. “You may leave us now.”

The guards bow and take their leave.

Katara feels like a fish out of water, gaping for breath on the hostile shore. She is aware of everyone’s eyes on her, and their expressions range from curious to downright outraged.

“So _this_ is the rabid waterbender?” bursts the handsome man sitting next to Captain Shu, the one in the navy uniform. His face is clouded with rage, and he gets to his feet, pointing at her with an accusing finger. “ _This_ Water Tribe peasant was the one who almost murdered my son?”

Katara feels the blood drain out from her face, leaving her white as a sheet.

It takes all of her effort to not fidget or squirm or flinch at the man’s angry words, and yet, she cannot fault him his anger.

“We will act with decorum, Admiral Chan,” says the old man at the head of the table in a placid voice.

Chan’s father, the Admiral, stiffens, but after a moment, he turns to face the old man.

“With all due respect, General,” he forces out in clipped words, his voice shaking with the effort to maintain a respectful, even tone, “my son was almost killed by this girl! Forgive me if _decorum_ is not a priority on my mind at this moment.”

“I understand that this is a serious matter at hand, Admiral,” replies the kindly old man in the same calm voice, “and I feel your pain as a father, for the suffering your son has endured. However, this is not the place for retribution, but for justice. If you are not prepared to hear, as I suspect, the many other sides of this story besides the one you have already been told, then I will have to ask you to excuse yourself.”

Admiral Chan’s face reddens, but the old man’s face is resolute. After opening and closing his mouth a few times without uttering another word, the admiral bows his head shortly, and sits back down in his chair, arms crossed across his chest.

Katara cannot help but stare at the old man and wonder. He seems to be a General of the army, and though his military attire suggests that this is true, Katara has never seen a man who appears less warlike. General Shinu, Admiral Chan, even Master Jeong-Jeong appear stern and ferocious, like they would belong on the battlefield. This benign old man, with his receding hairline, broad lined face, and rotund shape, however, seems more suited to reading old scrolls and playing pai sho than to commanding the most fearsome army the world had ever known. And yet, the deference given to him by the other officers in the room suggests otherwise.

But _how_? How could a man so serene and _kind_ , with laugh lines creasing around his eyes and mouth, rise to such heights in the army? Katara doesn’t understand it at all.

“We will proceed,” says General Shinu, breaking Katara out of her ponderings. He nods at Katara. “Please, take a seat.”

Katara blinks, and then awkwardly seats herself at the one empty chair, on the other side of the table. The manacles on her wrists clink as she rests her hands on top of the worn wood surface.

The old man seated next to Shinu frowns.

“Why are her hands bound like that?” he inquires, a frown crossing his broad, lined face.

Katara does not miss the confusion that ripples across the faces of everyone else at the table. With the exception of Jeong-Jeong, seated at the old man’s other side, who still appears impassive and unresponsive.

“With respect, General, this waterbender was apprehended while attacking one of our firebenders with great ferocity,” Captain Shu explains. “She is an incredibly powerful bender and thus, we have had to keep her wrists bound as a safety precaution.”

The old man snorts.

“A room full of the Empire’s finest, and you feel threatened by _one_ girl? You dishonor yourselves. Remove her shackles.”

“But – but she could be dangerous, sir!” Captain Shu splutters.

The old man sends a stern glance to the captain.

“Sifu Katara remains our division’s resident Waterbending Master, for all her perceived transgressions. It is not your place to treat her like some common criminal. Or have you found another with her talents lining up to replace her?”

“That’s – that’s not what I meant –“ Captain Shu continues, now red as a beet.

The old man turns his attentions to Katara and fixes her with his shrewd gaze.

“Will you use your bending to harm any of us in this room if we remove your shackles, Sifu Katara?” he asks her politely.

Katara gapes at him, before shaking her head quickly.

“Well, there you have it,” the old General says briskly. “Unbind Sifu Katara’s wrists.”

A guard materializes by her side and quickly unlocks the cuffs on her wrists.

“Th – thank you,” she forces out hoarsely, rubbing at her wrists.

The old man smiles at her.

“I have heard a great deal about you, Sifu Katara. I regret that we must meet under such troubled circumstances, for I have been looking forward to making your acquaintance.” He bows his head shortly. “I am General Iroh.”

Katara’s jaw _drops_.

This old man – _this_ wise, peaceful, kind old man –

“ _You’re the Crown Prince?_ ” she blurts out, unable to contain her disbelief.

Of all her assumptions about what Ozai’s older brother would be like, _this man_ cannot be further from them.

“General Iroh is indeed the Heir Apparent to the Fire Empire throne,” General Shinu informs her curtly. “Agni willing, it will be many years before he leaves us to assume the throne and govern the land.”

General Iroh – _Crown Prince Iroh_ ¬– waves a hand dismissively at Shinu’s words.

“Enough of that talk, now,” he says. “We are here to get to the bottom of another matter.”

“That is correct,” Shinu says, and his voice becomes hard as he focuses his attention on Katara. Whatever hope had budded in her chest at Iroh’s earlier actions is dashed as Shinu begins to speak. “Katara, I will be quick about this. Did you, or did you not, attack Admiral Chan’s son?”

Katara swallows past the lump forming in the back of her throat.

“I did,” she confesses, her voice quiet.

“Did you do so intentionally?” Shinu continues sternly.

Katara nods her head.

“I did.” Her voice is a whisper now.

What was the point? General Iroh’s small kindnesses be damned, they were _Fire Empire_ through and through, and Chan, vile creature that he was, was a firebender and almost _died_ because of her.

There is no point in defending herself, in pointing out the horrible things Chan and his ilk had said and done to her, to provoke her attack. Who would care?

“Did you do so intentionally, knowing that he may not have survived the ferocity of your attack, knowing that you were the superior bender?” Shinu presses on.

“I – “ Katara struggles to remember that day. Truth be told, it seems so very long ago, and even in the heat of the moment, she hadn’t been thinking straight. “I don’t know.”

“What do you _mean_ , you don’t know?” Admiral Chan explodes at her, unable to contain himself. “You mean you didn’t _want_ to kill my son, you heartless Water Tribe _witch_?”

“ _Language_ , Admiral Chan,” General Iroh admonishes forcefully, as Katara shakes her head quickly. “I am warning you, if you cannot control yourself, I will have to ask you to leave.”

Admiral Chan closes his mouth and glares at Katara.

“Please, continue,” General Iroh says to her encouragingly.

“I –“ Katara is dumbfounded and entirely lost for words. What does General Iroh want to hear from her? She’s already confessed to hurting the firebender, so why should he keep up this charade? Why hasn’t he started clamouring to burn the Water Tribe witch like the rest of his compatriots yet?

_What does he want from me?_

“What General Iroh means is,” Shinu takes up the line of questioning in a resigned voice, “what were you thinking during the attack? Did you _want_ to kill Chan?”

“No!” Katara exclaims. “Of course not!”

_Except, that’s not true_ , a voice in her mind whispers snidely, _you wanted him dead, and then regretted it later..._

“I mean,” she backtracks, confusing even herself with her honesty, “I don’t know. I – I wasn’t really thinking. I don’t know what I was doing, or what I wanted.”

“How very convenient,” Admiral Chan sneers, as General Shinu rubs his forehead warily.

“So – you _didn’t_ want to kill Chan, but you aren’t sure about what you wanted?” Shinu echoes skeptically. “You are hardly presenting a convincing case for anyone to follow here, Katara.”

Katara shrugs.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, honestly. “I know now that what I did was wrong, and I regret what I did to Chan. I suppose in the heat of the moment I got – carried away, you could say, but –“

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Shinu cuts her off, raising an eyebrow.

“I – I don’t really know what else to say,” Katara answers hesitantly. “I did exactly what you’re accusing me of, and I’m sorry that I did it, and I’ll accept whatever sentence you think I deserve.”

Her heart pounds in her chest fitfully as she remembers the cruelty of Fire Empire judgment.

“I think there is more to the story here than we realize,” General Iroh interrupts suddenly. “It would be unwise to consider an appropriate sentence before weighing both sides of the story.”

“We _have_ weighed both sides,” General Shinu protests. “The waterbender confessed to the crime, what else is there to hear?”

“My dear General Shinu,” General Iroh declares, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him, “in life, you must remember that context is everything.”

He once again fixes Katara with his assessing amber gaze.

“I have been told that prior to your assault on young Chan, he insulted you,” General Iroh says evenly. “Repeatedly and cruelly. Is this true?”

Katara’s stomach does a backflip at General Iroh’s unexpected interest in her motives.

“Where did you hear that?” she asks him sharply, without thinking.

General Iroh’s eyes are kind as he replies.

“My nephew witnessed much of this incident, as well as – I assume – several of the ones preceding this. I trust his judgment.”

_Oh._

For many days now, Katara has suspected Prince Zuko of being a much better person than herself. But only after meeting his uncle does she begin to understand the magnitude of her misjudgment.

“What nonsense is this?” Admiral Chan snaps. “This waterbender is _guilty_ of attacking my son and she _admitted it!_ Why are you and Prince Zuko now backtracking to defend her?”

“Because there is a lesson to be learned in all of this,” General Iroh answers. “If you will but bear with me, Admiral Chan. Katara, is it true that Chan harassed you, many times, often with the support of other firebenders?”

Katara bites her lip and nods shortly.

“Including the time you attacked him?”

Katara nods again.

“If it does not cause you too much distress, would you be able to describe some of what happened that day, that provoked you to such rage that you would attack him so?”

“I –“ Katara struggles, trying to remember. “He accosted me that day, when I was on my way back to my dorm from cross-training, he and his friends. They surrounded me and grabbed me, to stop me from leaving. Chan said some very impolite things and bent a couple of fireballs at me, not intentionally to hurt me, I don’t think, maybe to intimidate me, more like –“

“How very rude of him,” General Iroh comments. “How did you react?”

“Not well,” Katara confesses. “Usually I just ignore him, but that day was – there was a lot going on and he got under my skin.“

“What, exactly, did he say?” Iroh asks carefully, but the tone of his voice indicates that he doesn’t need to hear it, that he already knows.

Katara’s memory doesn’t fail her at _that_. Chan’s words from that day are seared into her memory like a brand, and they come back to her instantly.

“Lots of things,” Katara answers vaguely, not really wanting to repeat any of the vile things Chan had said.

“Such as?”

She shrugs.

“Katara, we cannot judge you fairly if you do not tell us what he said,” General Iroh tells her patiently. “I understand it must be difficult for you to think about, but –“

“ _Difficult_ is a nice way to put it,” Katara retorts, something within her snapping. “ _Difficult_ is when a gang of popular firebenders, who you know are never, ever going to be punished for what they say to you, because they’re Fire Nation and you’re not, single you out in front of everyone and insult you. _Difficult_ is when they make fun of the way you look, or where you’re from, or the fact that you’re not Fire Empire royalty – _colony trash_ is one that they like using. _Difficult_ is when they try to attack you, not to hurt but to intimidate, to remind you that because you’re not Fire Nation, you should always remember to be scared of them. As though nine years of occupation –“ she halts abruptly, deciding that airing this subject in front of the _Crown Prince himself_ is the dimmest idea she’s had all week, “ – as though _all my life_ , the Fire Empire hasn’t been trying to teach me that.” Her voice grows hoarse. “But when they violated my privacy by watching me bathe, and then had the nerve to insult what they saw, and _then called me a slut_ over it, I – “ she pauses, trying to catch her breath and quell the anger rising in her, still, because Chan may be in pretty poor shape right now, but only because he was a little shit who _deserved_ some pain, “I don’t think that was _difficult_ , General Iroh. I think it was quite easy.”

To her surprise, General Iroh appears sad.

“So do I, Sifu Katara,” he says quietly, bowing his head slightly. “So do I.”

“ _What_?” Admiral Chan all but yells out, turning to face his General. “Sir, you _cannot_ condone this girl’s actions! What she did was monstrous! What she did to my son was _unforgivable_!”

“I am not condoning anything,” General Iroh says to Admiral Chan with a heavy voice. “But you are wrong. Your son lives, still. What Katara did to him was _almost_ unforgivable. _Almost_. But I have now heard her side of the story – what little of it she chooses to share with me, I am sure, there is no shortage of misery she must have endured here – and I am satisfied that her actions, violent and dangerous as they were, have been motivated by nothing more malicious than rightful anger.”

_Huh_?

Katara is lost, and she is certain her mouth is all but hanging open at Iroh’s words.

Is General Iroh, _Crown Prince of the Fire Empire_ , and Ozai’s _older brother_ , siding with _her_?

“ _Anger_?” Admiral Chan echoes in fury, jumping to his feet again. “Carry on like this, General, and I’ll make sure you become very familiar with the word! What about _my_ anger? _My son_ -”

“Your son took special pleasure in tormenting a young girl with no home and no family, Admiral Chan,” General Iroh speaks over the indignant admiral with ringing finality in his voice. “He delighted in finding new, cruel ways to provoke her and make her feel small about herself. Given the way our people have treated hers, your son’s actions appear all the more grave. Perhaps he was only posturing, perhaps he never meant to actually harm this girl – but you are all aware of the devastation our Empire, and in particular, our military, has wrought on the people of the Water Tribe. What we have done, now _that_ , I fear, is _unforgivable_. But even then, we cannot give up. We must try harder, with what exists within ourselves and with what we pass on to our children, to make our amends and do better. To make ourselves worthy of trust again.”

“ _Must_?” Admiral Chan bellows. “We are the children of Agni! We _must_ do nothing! We answer to no one!”

“If you are answerable to no one, then remember this too: no one will answer for the pain they cause you,” General Iroh says plainly. “My heart aches for your son, Admiral, for it is becoming plain to me that _you_ are responsible for the way you have taught him to treat others. He is guilty only of acting the way he has been shown, and now he has paid a heavy price for it. But I cannot find Katara guilty of anything more than acting the way _she_ has been taught. By us and our kind, no less. In the end, this girl has more in common with your son than you will ever know or understand, I fear.”

Katara feels her eyes welling up. General Iroh’s words are like a poultice to the soul.

“So you will not punish the girl, then?” Admiral Chan’s voice is flat. “It was justified because she got _angry_?”

“Angry because a group of firebenders provoked her by making threats and repeatedly insulting every aspect of her being?” General Iroh summarizes, his voice becoming louder and uncharacteristically sardonic. “Yes, how very unreasonable of her! Why, I am quite confident that if _you_ found yourself in the exact same situation, Admiral Chan, _you_ certainly would not find yourself angered in the slightest. You would not let your anger get the better of you and do something rash, perhaps something that you would come to regret.”

Iroh’s chastisement is not ineffective. Admiral Chan opens his mouth to retort, but then thinks better of it. He sits down, thoroughly chastened.

“So what is your judgment then, esteemed General?” General Shinu asks. He sounds genuinely confused.

General Iroh surveys the occupants of the room, before slowly getting to his feet.

“I cannot rule either party as innocent or guilty, I am afraid,” he says slowly, running a hand along his chin. “Both are guilty of significant wrongdoing to the other. Chan deliberately made Katara a target of his campaign of harassment and bigotry, to make her feel uncomfortable by virtue of who she was and where she came from. This was not correct. Katara, on the other hand, snapped from this constant abuse and attacked Chan in retaliation, to the point where his life hangs in the balance. This too, was not correct. However –“ and he raises up a hand, “- we must always remember where these two young people came from. Chan was raised in a loving household, with every rank and privilege accorded to him by his esteemed father – and unfortunately, every sad prejudice that accompanies it. Katara, on the other hand –“

Iroh pauses, his hand stroking his pointed beard now. He fixes his piercing amber gaze on Katara now.

“I do not know what your life has been like, child,” he says to her directly, somberly, sorrowfully. “I do not know where you were born, or who your parents were, or what they did. I can only guess at the sorry circumstances that have led you here, to this spot. Perhaps you were separated from your family during the first polar raids, or perhaps it was later. Perhaps you were torn from them during the state-sponsored assimilation programs, and subjected to the atrocities of the colonial schools: an institution that we have only recently become aware of, an institution that we are quite ashamed of.” He hangs his head. “I only know for certain that my people have taught you to fear us and hate us. We have burned your villages and killed your fathers and stolen your children. We have starved you, beaten you, burned you, abused you. We have tried to make you forget who you are, to make you feel inferior because of the culture we tried to erase from you. And…in too many ways, we succeeded.”

A tear trails down Katara’s cheek. She makes no effort to wipe it.

She should feel angry. She should feel vindicated. She should feel sad.

She should feel _something_.

“I will not insult you by asking for your forgiveness,” General Iroh says, looking her in the eye once again. “We have done nothing to earn it from you. I do not doubt that your hatred for us, your fear, your instinct for self-defense and survival, are what have kept you alive through these dark years. To expect you to relinquish all that now is plain foolishness. You acted as you did with Chan, because that is what we have taught you, and because that is what we deserve. We cannot punish you for learning our lessons. All I ask from you is one small thing.”

Katara swallows, with some difficulty. Her throat is closed up and her body is shaking.

“What?” she whispers.

Iroh gives her a small smile, and another tear falls from her eyes.

“My old friends Jeong-Jeong and Pakku commend your fighting spirit and your immense skill with your bending, and my nephew informs me that you are a force to be reckoned with.” Katara blinks in surprise, but Iroh continues on, unaware that he has said anything amiss. “You are regarded highly by those around you, for your bravery and your resilience and your quickness to learn. It is in the spirit of these strengths of yours that I ask you for time.”

“Time?” Katara echoes, unsure that she’s hearing him correctly.

“Yes,” Iroh nods solemnly, clasping both his hands together in front of him. “Time. Time enough for you and I, and Admiral Chan, and Admiral Chan’s son, and Master Jeong-Jeong, and General Shinu, and everyone else in this division to learn a new lesson. We cannot undo the past, nor should we ever forget it. But we should always commit to learning from our mistakes, and in time we will learn to be worthy of your trust, Sifu Katara. In time, I promise you, we will earn it back.”

The world is swimming. There is an ache in her chest, an ache that hurts so much Katara can barely breathe.

“You, who have mastered waterbending in less than a year, who have imbibed Master Jeong-Jeong’s lessons more speedily than anyone else in your cohort,” Iroh continues quietly, “will you try? When that day comes, can you learn to trust us again?”

Katara wants to answer him, she truly does. But her throat is closed up tight and her mouth is pressed tightly together, in an effort to keep what little control she has over herself intact.

Instead, she settles for a quick nod, dashing at her wet eyes with the back of her hand.

General Iroh’s face splits into a smile.

She decides that she likes it when he smiles. The crinkles around mouth and eyes warm his broad features, and heighten the aura of calm and trustworthiness that surrounds him.

Ozai’s own brother. Who would have thought?

Certainly not her, that’s for sure.

“Then we have a way forward,” General Iroh continues. He clears his throat and looks around at the other commanding officers seated by him. “Instead of punishment and retribution, let us focus on healing the damage we have inflicted upon ourselves and each other.”

Katara scrubs at her face in a vain effort to make herself appear slightly more presentable, before she looks up at General Iroh again. The look he gives her is less stern than thoughtful.

“Katara, you agree that your attack on Chan was wrong, do you not?”

Katara nods her head in agreement.

General Iroh’s gaze seems to see right through her as he continues.

“What do you think would be an appropriate way to atone for your actions?” he asks her gently. “Something that shows your repentance, but could also help heal Chan?”

Katara blinks.

_He must know. Zuko knows, there’s no way he doesn’t too, by now._

It would have seemed preposterous before, but now…

The words slide out of her mouth as though she’s always meant to say them.

“I have healing abilities,” she hears herself say. “I could physically heal Chan from the injuries I inflicted.”

The ensuing shock that follows her words does not disappoint.

“ _Healing_?”

“You can _heal_?”

“How have we never heard of this before?”

To her surprise, General Iroh also appears taken aback by her admission.

The only one who isn’t surprised is Master Jeong-Jeong, who finally gives her a small smile.

“You _knew_?” Katara blurts out, shocked.

Jeong-Jeong shrugs.

“The great benders of the Water Tribe sometimes have the ability to heal. How could you not?”

“With all due respect, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Admiral Chan butts in, looking somewhat nervous now. “You just said this waterbender was _justified_ in her savage attack against my son. Now, you want to let her _near him_ in his current condition, because she _claims_ she can _heal_? I think that this puts my son in even greater danger! How can you trust her?”

“I believe Katara’s repentance is sincere,” General Iroh answers patiently. “And I think this will be an excellent exercise to build trust, on both sides. Katara will use her healing abilities to help your son, as an act of atonement for the violence she inflicted upon him. And you – both you and your son will _apologize_ for your appalling behaviour. You will learn to respect Katara and honour her, and not only for sharing her tribe’s secret talent to your family’s benefit… though I suspect that will have a lot to do with it. But more importantly, you will also learn to abandon your belief in Fire Empire superiority, and will champion the cause of those in the colonies we have marginalized over our long years.”

Admiral Chan splutters in disbelief as General Iroh claps his hands together.

“I believe this is fair to everyone involved, and thus I render my judgment complete,” he concludes. “Dismissed.”

* * *

Katara feels like she’s in a daze as everyone in the room gets to their feet and slowly departs.

_Fair_ is correct, and it surprises her. _Fair_ is exactly what she had _not_  been expecting.

She remembers Zuko and how he had sprung to his uncle’s defense without question that night, and how he’s never held him in anything less than the highest respect, and now –

Now she understands.

“You appear surprised, Sifu Katara,” General Iroh observes, and Katara starts. By now, everyone else in the room has left, and it is just her and the General, standing across from each other at opposite sides of the table.

“I –“ Katara hardly knows what to say to this strange old man. “I suppose I am.” A moment’s pause, before she remembers her manners. “Thank you for your mercy, your –“

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Iroh interrupts her, his eyes shining. “I just brewed a pot of ginseng tea. It is my favourite. Have you ever tried it?”

“I – I can’t say I have.” Katara is now dumbfounded.

“Then, please, you must let me pour you some. I insist.”

Katara can hardly refuse him now, and so, she sits in her chair quietly, slightly uncomfortably, as the old man gets to his feet, draws the teapot from the fire, and pours out two cups of steaming, fragrant tea.

He places one in front of her. She lifts it and sniffs at it gingerly.

She isn’t a big fan of tea, but then again, she’s probably never had anything this fine before. The tealeaves served to common soldiers were probably not fit for the Crown Prince, after all.

The aroma is somewhat pungent but otherwise not unpleasant. She glances at General Iroh, who is slowly sipping at the scalding liquid, and following his lead, takes a small sip.

“What do you think?” General Iroh asks her, his face still creased in a smile.

Privately, Katara thinks it tastes like boiling hot water with a couple of dead leaves thrown in for good measure. Crown Prince Iroh, however, strikes her as somewhat of a tea aficionado and, after everything he’s just done for her, she concludes that voicing this particular opinion of hers would be inappropriate at best, and downright offensive at worst.

“It’s good,” she mumbles, swallowing the hot liquid slowly.

“Really? I’m thrilled! You should hear what my _nephew_ said when he tried it. _Hot leaf juice_ , is what he called it!” Iroh’s face clouds up and he shakes his head disapprovingly, before taking another sip of his tea.

“Oh, did he?” Katara stammers. She finds herself in agreement with Zuko, and it unsettles her that this is not an infrequent occurrence anymore. “How – how rude of him.”

Iroh grins at her easily.

“Not _rude_. He was just stating his _opinion_. A wrong one, if I might say so.”

He takes another sip of his tea, before putting his cup down slowly.

“I am glad that we have the opportunity to speak privately,” he says to her, his face still cheerful but his voice suddenly serious. “As I have said before, I have wanted to meet you for a long time now.”

“You have?” Katara is stunned. Why would the Crown Prince of the Fire Empire even know who she was, let alone want to meet her? It makes no sense to her. “ _Why_?”

Unless…

“Your reputation precedes you,” Iroh tells her warmly. “Pakku is a _very_ old friend of mine, as is Jeong-Jeong.”

“How?” Katara wonders.

Iroh winks at her.

“Let’s just say that, to a certain extent, all old people know each other,” he says vaguely. “And we _all_ gossip.”

“I’m sure you do,” Katara says uncertainly, not really sure why Iroh has her here when he probably has a thousand other priorities vying for his attention.

The General sets down his cup.

“But even in spite of that, you remain a great mystery to me, Sifu Katara,” he tells her plainly, his warm face growing slightly pensive. “Full of surprises. Did Pakku know of your healing abilities?”

Katara hangs her head. Pakku had been like a father to her, a wise mentor. But in the end, he was the Fire Empire’s to command and he had sent her away. So, she remembered the voices in her head, the echoes of her grandmother’s words, and trusted no one with the knowledge of her healing.

“No.”

“Well, that explains why he didn’t tell me about them, then,” Iroh mutters, more to himself than to her, before picking up his cup and bringing it close to his lips again.

“You seem surprised,” Katara comments, raising her eyebrows. “I thought Zuko would have told you.”

Now Iroh is staring at her curiously, the cup in his hands all but forgotten.

“No,” he says at last, weighing the word slowly, “no, he didn’t. I didn’t know that he knew.”

“Oh.” Katara doesn’t know what to say, now. “I thought he was going to write to you about it, when – uh – I healed him from an injury.”

Iroh's gaze sharpens, making it clear that he knows at once what she's actually talking about. He sets the cup down on the table again, this time more firmly.

“That is why I am here,” he tells her, his voice serious once again, and all trace of mirth is gone from his face. Instead, he appears older to her eyes, concerned and wary. “My nephew sent me a missive detailing the assassination attempt, some five nights ago. As discreetly as I could, without drawing any undue attention from my brother and his cronies at court, I packed up and made my way here as fast as possible.”

“And?” Katara presses. “What do you think?”

“I do not know what to think,” General Iroh confesses, somewhat helplessly to her ears. “I only arrived this morning. I have barely seen my nephew or had a chance to talk to him, before being presented with the matter of your dispute with Chan.”

“I’m sorry,” Katara says awkwardly.

General Iroh waves a hand at her dismissively.

“It is of no matter. I did my duty and set an example for my men to follow. I hope that they will do so. In the meantime, I do what I can, with whatever I have. Zuko tries too, Agni bless him, but he can only do so much in his circumstances. It distresses me to hear that you have suffered here. I hope from now on, this will not be the case.”

His tone suggests to her that he would make it his business to ensure it was the case.

“Why did you help me?” Katara blurts out, setting her cup down too. “I’m a nobody. Why are you sitting here, drinking tea and chatting with me, when you have an army to run? When you have your nephew to see?”

_And the mystery of his potential assassin to solve?_

“You are not a nobody to me, Sifu Katara,” General Iroh tells her patiently. “Nor to Jeong-Jeong, nor Shinu, nor your old Master Pakku.”

He pauses, regarding her with thoughtful eyes.

“Nor,” he continues slowly, watching her, gauging her reaction, “to my brother, Lord Ozai.”

Katara almost knocks over her teacup in response.

“ _What do you mean_?” she demands, face white as a sheet. Her heart hammers in her chest wildly, erratically.

“I mean,” General Iroh elaborates slowly, and it suddenly dawns on her, the _true_ motive behind his patience and his kindness, “that my brother has been asking me all sorts of questions about you, Katara.”

“ _Why_?” Katara’s voice is almost a shriek, now.

The expression in General Iroh’s golden eyes as he looks at her is unreadable, and for a minute, she is reminded of Zuko.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” he says flatly.

Now she understands it, the two sons of the Fire Emperor, and how different they appear and how similar they truly are. Though one is fair while the other is foul, both are unscrupulous in their own ways. Ozai uses swords and fire despite being a courtier, while Iroh, being a soldier, uses his words and artfully constructed kindnesses.

“Is that why I’m here?” she asks in a quiet voice, shaking with the effort to keep calm. “Is that why you’re sitting here with me, trying to win me over with your apologies and your mercy and your _tea_ , so that you can get me to _talk_?” The old hurt rises in her, and she was _just_ beginning to think that she was going to like him. “I thought you wanted to try _trust_ , instead of just manipulating me –“

“Katara, please,” General Iroh holds up a hand and cuts her off. “I am only asking out of concern for you. I may be the Crown Prince of the Empire, but my brother is a dangerous man and an even more dangerous enemy. A fact that I am sure is not lost upon you. So, I am going to ask you one more time, and for your own sake, I hope you answer honestly: why is my brother so interested in you?”

“I don’t know,” Katara answers truthfully, her heart beating wildly now. “I don’t know why he would ask about me, I don’t know how he even knows who I _am_ , I’ve – I’ve never met him or talked to him, or –“

“Zuko tells me you were sent to a colonial school in New Ozai,” Iroh says sharply. “That you were connected to individuals in the resistance there.”

“Yes, but,” Katara looks up at him anxiously, “that was only out of association. I never _did_ anything.”

After all, Jet did all the dirty work. Her hands were clean.

That had been part of their deal.

Iroh continues to peer at her, and though he doesn’t express outright skepticism at her words, he doesn’t look like he believes her entirely.

“Katara, let me tell you a story,” he says suddenly. “And then, you can tell me if it sounds familiar to you.”

“Okay,” Katara answers, bewildered.

He takes a deep breath before launching into his narrative.

“Once, there were two brothers; one older, one younger. Their father ruled a vast empire encompassing many lands, some rightfully his own, some acquired through warfare and bloodshed. Through a vastly complex system of court nobles and constituent ambassadors, their father maintained peaceful rule as he taught his elder son how to be a leader.”

“The younger son, however, resented the darkness of his brother’s shadow, and yearned to break out from it – to carve a name for himself, to win glory for himself and approval from his father. But he never cared for the lessons their father taught them, about justice and ethics and moral governance. Instead, he listened to the counsel of his confidantes within the courts – scions of elite families affronted by the notion of sharing their influence with _ambassadors_ , who they regarded as mere street folk from common lands beyond their ancestral borders. He learned from _them_ that power is not bestowed upon you – it is _seized_. And so, he watched, and he waited, and he concocted what he thought was a perfect plan.”

“The target he chose was ruthlessly deliberate. One of the empire’s most recent trading partners was a land far away, with people whose appearances, rituals, and customs were so different from his own, that their ambassadors seldom fit in at court. They came from a land that was wintry and severe, and had little to offer in the way of resources, the way the other acquired colonies in other areas of the world could.”

Katara feels her blood beginning to boil, but doesn’t interrupt as Iroh goes on in his measured voice.

“It wasn’t long before the citizens of the empire began to view these others as burdensome, troublesome aliens. When the emperor recommended sending ships of local produce and goods to the winterlands, the people grumbled. And when the first famines began to shrink their harvests not long after that, the citizens began to blame the winterlands for it. Things grew worse for the winter people after that. Slights against them went unchecked, negotiations with the remainder of the empire seldom ended in their favour, and aggressions directed at them escalated, often without punishment.”

“The younger son perceived that it was time to harness this ill sentiment among the people of his empire for his own gain. He told the courts and his father and his brother that he was going to formally annex the winterlands to the empire, under diplomatic terms similarly presented to other colonies – and his father was impressed. Little did any of them know that, with the stamp of their approval, the younger son had not opted for diplomacy, but instead, barbarism. He struck at the winterlands in brutal raids and commenced a brief, but bloody occupation. Then, to consolidate his idea of his empire’s cultural superiority over the winterland aliens, as he viewed them, he started a new project.”

“The _colonial schools_ , as he proposed them to the courts and the people of the empire, were seemingly innocuous. Instead of leaving the winterland children to languish away in their desolate and underdeveloped homeland, he proclaimed, why not cart them over to more desirable locations within the empire itself? There, in the heart of the empire, they could learn to _adapt_ to civilized life, to their new life within the great empire, and reject their primitive, strange old ways. In their arrogance and blindness, everyone agreed with him, perhaps thinking to encourage him whenever he showed initiative in matters of state.”

General Iroh does not mask the sorrow in his voice. Her jaw clenches as she remembers it all.

“What they did not know was that behind closed doors, the colonial schools were hell on earth for their subjects. A thinly veiled moniker to abuse, torture, and kill those who had survived the winterlands occupation, all while the rest of the empire thought that he was doing them a great service. His father grew proud of him, and in time, slowly began increasing his responsibilities around the court. His name was spoken by the people, perhaps for the very first time, in reverence.”

Her nails dig into her palm as she clenches her fist, hard, in her lap.

“But, in one city, named for the younger son himself, housing the very first colonial school, thrived a seed of resistance pushing back against his tyrannical, barbaric ways. The members of the resistance worked to expose the realities of the colonial school to the imperial court and to the public, at great personal peril. And when their labours bore fruit, the fallout the younger son experienced was unlike anything he could have anticipated. For someone who believed in the darkness of humanity, how could the plight of these tragic children move the common people of his empire? Or the courtiers? Or his own father, the emperor?”

_I’ll bet he learned a thing or two._

Katara works very hard to keep her face neutral. She is aware that General Iroh is watching her keenly, monitoring for any shift in expression, any accidental reveals or admissions of her past endeavours.

She hopes the fierce glow of pride within her has not reached her eyes. That he does not have the ability to read her as well as she thinks he can.

“But the treatment of these children at the colonial school became a scandalous affair, one that cost the emperor the trust of many of his colony ambassadors. Instead of praising the younger son for his dedication to saving the children of the winterlands and demonstrating the superiority of the Fire Empire over them, the people began to fear him and speak of him in hushed voices, as though he was a monster. It was the final nail in the coffin for his plots and his ambitions. Disgraced in front of the nation, humiliated before his father, he was forbidden from meddling in state affairs ever again. The emperor, together with his older son, resolved to make things right thereafter. But years of damage are not so easily overturned.”

Iroh pauses, and Katara looks at him expectantly, her eyes harsh.

“Well?” she asks him. “What happened next? Don’t stop now.”

“I don’t know what will happen next,” Iroh admits, taking the last and final sip of his tea. “But I can imagine that the younger son did not take the loss of his father’s trust lightly, nor do I think he is the type to sit by idly as the world rights itself of his wrongs. I do not know much about the resistance movement that uprooted him, but if I were to hazard a guess, I would estimate that several of them went on to meet extremely untimely ends.”

He puts his cup down for the last time, and steeples his fingers on the table before him.

“Does this story sound familiar to you at all, Sifu Katara?”

Katara swallows, but does not answer. She doesn’t have to. The answer is written plainly across her face, and General Iroh is certainly more perceptive than he lets on.

“Let me ask you one more question,” Iroh continues, and his tone is cautionary. “If this younger son got wind of someone, someone seemingly innocuous – let’s say, a young girl from the winterlands, with extraordinary talents and power, who was close to his son and had a past association with the very resistance that destroyed his political reputation – and had ample time shut up in the palace to fixate upon her and her past, how much danger do you think that girl would be in, at this very moment?”

It is as though the blood in her veins has frozen, the way the chill sets upon her all of a sudden.

“A lot,” she breathes quietly, her breath hitching in her throat at the realization.

“And, knowing this,” the General warns her, “do you think it wise for this particular young girl to reject any help from well-connected individuals, when it is offered?”

_Point made._

Her mouth tightens.

“No,” she repeats, in a slightly stronger voice.

Maybe he truly does mean her well. Or maybe he is just using her.

Maybe both.

But General Iroh has shown that even if she cannot trust his motives, he will do what he can to help her, for the moment. Whether she can trust him in the long run is something that remains to be seen.

And that is better than nothing.

So, Katara resolves, she doesn’t _have_ to trust him just yet. She doesn’t _have_ to believe his claims of paternalistic concern for her wellbeing, when they are still strangers and he has little cause to care about her at all. But she can still afford to keep him as a powerful ally, to accept the protection he offers, and reserve judgment until she learns more about him.

She can afford to be used by him, so long as she keeps her eyes and ears open to what his intentions truly are.

But he’s right about one thing.

If Prince Ozai has her on his map, she needs all the help she can get.

* * *

**author's notes.** i meant to write further but the chapter was growing too long. the next part should be up soon, hopefully. time permitting.

reactions? thoughts? feedback? i love hearing it all!


	13. amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara heals.

**disclaimer.** ATLA is property of bryke, i write this for no financial gain and own nothing you recognize.

**author's notes.** holy crow.

thank you SO MUCH for all the love for the last chapter! going through your comments and seeing how much you guys are taking in/reflecting/analyzing is one of THE best feelings out there and one (of many) reason(s) i'm writing this! please, keep it up!

this chapter required several rewrites before i was even willing to put it up. i think i could have spent forever working on this. i'm still not happy with the finished product but figure this is as good as it's going to get, so eh.  

a bit of an aside for the structure of the chapter - each previous chapter has been paired with a fragment of song that fits thematically (omg SO original. i know.../sarcasm). i've gone a little further this chapter and while i'm not hugely enthusiastic about songfics, the events of this chapter fit particularly well with the chosen song (particularly with the emphasis on healing and reconciliation), and thus, i've opted to include bits of it throughout. 

anyway.

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter xiii.** amends

* * *

_pick it up, pick it all up_  
_and start again_  
_you’ve got a second chance, you could go home  
_ _escape it all_

“medicine” / daughter

* * *

“We need,” she says quietly, behind him, “to talk.”

Zuko starts and looks at the mirror before him, not really sure what he’d been expecting.

The morning has been a blur – an emotional one. He had received a message from his Uncle some four or five days prior, almost immediately after he had sent off a lengthy letter of his own, describing the unusual attack by Jet and the mysterious assassin.

The message he got back was short and to the point, scrawled without regard for legibility or tidiness upon a scrap of parchment paper.

_I’m on my way. Take great care._

_Uncle._

He’s been on edge ever since, waiting restlessly for his uncle to arrive. And early this morning, just past the crack of dawn, the Crown Prince and his retinue made their appearances at the army base.

He’d had precious little time to greet his uncle properly, exchange a few words over a cup of grassy tea, before they had been interrupted by General Shinu and the matter of camp discipline.

Uncle Iroh had asked Zuko to excuse himself then, promising to call him later after the chaos of his arrival had settled.

And so Zuko waits impatiently in his room, hunched over a scroll that his uncle had given him that morning. He’s absorbing its contents intently when a girl’s low voice from behind him interrupts his thoughts.

He looks up at the mirror on the wall before him. Standing behind him, her arms crossed and reflection scowling in the polished, burnished glass, is Mai.

_Oh_.

Once upon a time, Zuko’s heart would have leapt up in the cavity of his chest at the sight of her, at the sound of her voice. Once upon a time, Zuko would have done just about anything to keep her happy.

But his heartbeat is calm and his hands are steady as he slowly furls up the parchment scroll and places it back down on his desk, before getting up and turning to face Mai.

“Okay,” he says simply instead. “Let’s talk.”

Mai seems taken aback by the coolness in his voice. Usually, by this time, he’s fed up of her cold, distant silences and just wants to reconcile. Usually, by this time, he’s willing to let the past stay in the past.

But now, he is maintaining his own share of the space between them, and his eyes have lost the desperation in them, and there’s a quiet resignation in them, a steely resolve that makes her want to question everything.

But this has been a long time coming and she knows better than to back down now.

“Okay,” Mai takes the bait. “What’s going on with you? I don’t understand. Do you really care so _little_ about your reputation around here?”

_And here it is_ , Zuko thinks to himself, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. _The part where she’s mad at me for things she doesn’t even try to understand._

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells her, his voice slow and stilted.

He has an idea though.

Mai rolls her eyes and plants her hands on her hips.

“The _waterbender_ , Zuko. Agni’s sake, why on _earth_ would you defend her when she attacked Chan like that?”

“Because Chan is an idiot who had it coming,” Zuko retorts, unable to keep the scathing bite out of his voice. “Did you not hear all the awful things he said to her?”

“ _I_ wasn’t there,” Mai points out, “and that’s not what’s important, Zuko! _Your_ own countryman, the _son_ of an _Admiral_ to boot – was just viciously attacked by a treasonous, unstable waterbender, and you go around defending _her_? Do you have any idea how that _looks_? Do you _want_ to never see the throne in your life?”

“ _Who cares about the throne_?” Zuko bursts out at her, finally losing some of the calm he’d clung to previously. “Every time we argue, you’re always concerned about my status and my place in the succession. It’s as though you’re only with me because I’m a prince.”

Mai looks like she’s been slapped across the face.

“ _How dare you_ ,” she all but hisses at him. “How could you even accuse me of that? I _care_ about you, Zuko! I want what’s best for _you_! And your _future_! Can you no longer see that?” Her voice changes. “Has your obsession with that waterbender _blinded you_ to everything else in the world?”

Now _Zuko_ feels like he’s the one who’s been slapped.

“I’m _not_ obsessed –“ he begins to protest, but Mai cuts him off.

“And don’t even bother denying it, Zuko. You’re not a very convincing liar.” A strange half-smile is on her lips as she continues, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. “We get into an argument about her behavior and you don’t talk to me for _days_. Chan insults her and you say she’s justified in her attack that almost _killed_ him. For the love of Agni, what _is_ it about that girl that makes you _hate_ your own kind so much?”

Zuko’s heart is racing a mile a minute at being confronted in this manner. His fights with Mai are usually ugly, but they have never attacked each other so personally before. This time, it feels like she is shining a giant spotlight on him, exposing all his shortcomings for the world to see, and he squirms at the thought of having to defend himself to people who won’t understand it.

“I don’t hate my own kind,” he says to her softly. “I want what’s best for them too, believe me. We – just have a different idea of what that is.”

“That’s not possible,” Mai fires back. “Either you’re _for_ us, or you’re _not_. And so far, Zuko, you’ve been acting like a traitor and a colonial sympathizer, and that’s going to get you into _deep_ trouble back home! Here in the army, no one gives a damn, maybe, but back home, your actions say _volumes_.”

“Enough,” Zuko snaps, finally, and his irritation rears its head at her presumptuous words. “ _You_ don’t have to educate me on what life at court is like, Mai. I know plenty well what it’s all about. I don’t need you guiding my every move like I’m a sort of _puppet_ for you.”

Mai shakes her head disbelievingly.

“I don’t believe it,” she says hoarsely, clapping a hand to her forehead. “I don’t believe it. Do you even hear yourself? You are being _so stubborn_ and – I –“ she drops her hands to her sides as she looks at him helplessly, “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”

Zuko blinks at that. His mouth is suddenly very dry and it’s as though the world has gone very quiet and very still.

“That’s because,” he says in his gravelly voice, “I don’t think you ever knew me at all.”

Mai turns her head away now, stung by his words. Her pale grey eyes are shiny now, shiny and welling with tears she’ll never shed in front of him.

“No,” she says quietly, at last, the emptiness in her voice somehow more painful for him to bear than her anger, “I suppose I didn’t.”

Zuko has _never_ seen Mai look this defeated, and the sight of it distresses him to the core.

“Mai,” he says, trying to help, trying to make it better, “I never meant to hurt you –“

“But you _did_ , Zuko,” Mai lashes back, dashing at her eyes with the back of her hand so that when she looks at him squarely in the eyes, there are no tears, just a hint of redness to suggest that they were ever there in the first place. “You _did_ , and you were _always_ going to, whether you meant to or not.”

“I don’t –“

“Please.” Mai holds a hand up, silencing him. “Please don’t make this worse.”

“I,” Zuko confesses, running a hand through his hair in agitation, “I don’t know what to do, then.”

“What else _is_ there to do, Zuko? This is the first time you’ve ever been honest with me.” Mai smiles at him mirthlessly. “Own it. You’re a prince, after all.”

Zuko realizes that perhaps she’s right this time, and that by sparing her his honesty, he hasn’t been fair to her. Because she has never had a chance to be anything more to him that what she is now.

Because…he doesn’t think she _can_ be. Whenever he drops his carefully cultivated façade around her, she _hates_ it. She has never even tried to understand it or accept it.

And once the realization hits him, there is no taking it back.

“I…” he says, his voice faltering but carrying on regardless, because not saying it would be worse, not saying it would be unfair to Mai and damning for him, “I don’t think we’re right for each other, Mai.”

The strange smile still lingers on her face, but it resembles more of a grimace as he continues doggedly.

“I respect you a lot and I think you’re an incredible, strong woman. But I don’t think I could make you happy. You – you want a man like my father, and I – I don’t want to be like that. I couldn’t make you happy without lying to myself. And that’s not fair to me, and that’s not fair to you. I –“ and he pauses to collect himself, “I wish I could have done right by you. But I can’t do anything more than be who I am. I’m sorry to have hurt you, Mai. I really am.”

Mai takes a deep, shuddering breath, but when she speaks, her voice is perfectly steady.

“I suppose I expected this sooner or later,” she comments flatly. “I can’t say I’m thrilled but – well, at least now you’re free to do what you want.”

_Free_. The word is uncanny. Even though Mai was not an unpleasant person to be with, he feels lighter and freer than he has in the long months that they’ve been together.

“I’m sorry it has to end like this,” he tells her awkwardly.

Mai lets out a little scoff.

“No, you’re not,” she corrects him.

“ _Yes_. I _am_. I care about you, Mai,” he tries to convince her, because he does mean it. He isn’t sorry that he is not the person she wants him to be, but he _is_ sorry to have caused her pain. “I’ll always care about you, Mai. You – you are important to me, still.”

Mai raises an eyebrow.

“And the waterbender?” she asks, her voice now without reservation or judgment. “Why is _she_ so important to you?”

It’s a weighted question, one that Zuko has been too scared to ask himself, for fear of having to answer it. He can hardly lie to Mai, but at the same time, telling her the truth is out of the question when he himself can scarcely bring himself to face it.

“She’s just a girl who needs my help,” he says quietly, unyielding in the face of her expectant eyes. “Who helped me when she didn’t have to. It’s just the right thing to do.”

Mai shakes her head again.

“All the girls in the Empire and you had to go and pick _that one_?” she asks incredulously, the levity in her voice masking the intensity underneath, the hurt and the pain. “You really are a masochist, Zuko. She _hates_ firebenders. She’ll never think of you as anything more than the enemy. You’re wasting your time and your honour and your reputation on that girl. Do you really think it’s _worth it_?”

_She’s right, you know_ , the voice in his mind that echoes his father whispers to him. _She’ll never see you as anything more than the son of a monster. She said it herself._

“I didn’t _pick_ anything,” Zuko says firmly. “I’m just doing what I think is right.”

_And maybe one day the impossible will happen and she’ll change her mind._

“And that,” he finishes, his voice barely above a whisper, “is always worth it.”

_Maybe one day she’ll look at me the way she looks at Aang._

“You think this is _right_ ,” Mai echoes slowly. She shrugs, before turning to leave for the door. “I don’t understand." 

“No,” Zuko agrees sadly as she retreats out of his room and out of earshot. “I don’t suppose you could.”

* * *

Katara is allowed time for a bath and a quick meal before she is brought to the medical tent.

She spends a lot of time scrubbing herself, washing the filth of her solitary confinement off, brushing her hair until the long brown strands are lustrous and strong again. Wading out of the shallows and shrugging on the new linen robe – the only thing she owns that really fits her properly – she feels a thousand years younger.

The cool fall air crisp against her skin as she redoes her hair into its long, thick braid, she feels almost ready for the task ahead of her.

“So, they let you out, huh?”

Almost.

The sound of Toph’s voice behind her reminds her of how much she has left to do, however.

Katara turns slowly. To her surprise, Toph and Aang are standing behind her, by the entrance to the building in which her room is housed.

Their faces are solemn and unreadable, and for a second, she remembers back to the last time she’d seen them.

_You’re fucked up, Sugar Queen. You’re fucked up good._

_Don’t waste your time, Toph. I wish I hadn’t_.

“They did,” Katara says cautiously, with a slow nod. It’s all she can do to keep the hurt at bay, because as much as the firebenders’ taunts stung, they pale in comparison to the censure of those she’d started to consider as friends.

“And?” Toph asks. Her arms are crossed and even though she _appears_ at ease, Katara can see that the blind earthbender is racked with tension. “What’re they doing to you?”

_How are you going to prove that you’re not as fucked up as you seem?_

“General Iroh isn’t punishing me, if that’s what you’re asking,” Katara answers delicately, crossing her arms in front of her. “I offered to heal Chan of the injuries I caused him.”

“You did?” This from Aang who, for the first time since she’d been hauled off into solitary confinement, is able to look at her face. His big grey eyes are wide with surprise. “You _offered_?”

“It only seemed fair.” Katara shrugs, unsure of why the relief and pride mingling on Aang’s face fills her with irritation instead of happiness. He’s her _friend_ , after all, she’s _supposed_ to be happy that he isn’t cross with her for her shocking behaviour earlier. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I –“ Aang hesitates, before turning to face Toph briefly. “I mean – _Katara_ – you should have _seen_ yourself, the way you beat up Chan like that. For a moment – I thought – _we thought_ we never really knew you. We never thought you were capable of – of that.”

“I see.” Katara fights to keep her voice steady. “So – so it’s okay if Chan and the others act appallingly to intimidate and threaten me, but not if I do the same to defend myself. Is that what you’re saying?”

“ _No_. No, it’s _not_ ,” Aang protests, alarm spreading across his face at the tone of Katara’s voice. “Look – what Chan and his buddies were doing to you was _clearly_ not okay, either! But – but what you did was – was really difficult to stand by, Katara.”

“I heard.” Katara’s voice is wintry cold. “You said you wished you hadn’t wasted your time on me, Aang. I’m sorry I was such a disappointment to you back there.”

“That – that was wrong of me too,” Aang says quickly, and to his credit, he _does_ look ashamed. “I shouldn’t have said that. But Katara – you have to understand, the way I was raised, was that violence is _wrong_. Period. What Chan did to you, and what the Fire Empire did to you, it was all wrong. But what _you_ did to Chan was just as wrong! It was _monstrous_. I – we –“ he shoots another uncertain glance at Toph, who remains still and silent, before continuing apprehensively, “ – we thought you were doing so much better in getting over your anger recently, you were doing so well, with Zuko and – “ his voice catches in his throat, and he pauses before looking back at Katara, “ – it was just really shocking to us, to see you like that. I guess I was just upset with you, because I thought we were friends and I thought I knew you, and I _know_ you’re so much better than what you showed with Chan, and – well…”

Aang’s words make sense to her, she supposes. His reasoning isn’t unlike what her reflections in solitary have told her. But, for some reason, it still stings.

“You’re right,” she says softly. “Both of you. What I did with Chan was wrong, and I realize that. But –“ and here her voice catches in her throat slightly because she remembers Iroh’s story and she knows that _she needs friends, she needs all the help she can get_ , but all the same, “ – but it’s not friendship if you can just pick and choose when I’m worth your time.”

“Come again?”

“I meant,” Katara repeats, and even though her ears seem to be ringing and her body is shaking, her voice is low and calm and steady, “if you can just decide that you don’t want to be my friend whenever I do something you don’t agree with, then you’re not really my friend.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Aang protests. “I just mean that I was raised differently – by _monks_ , if you remember. Violence is difficult for me –“

“So much so that you ran away to join the Fire Empire _army_ ,” Katara points out. “You spend your days devising military tactics and training with one of the most oppressive armies on the _planet_. But yet, you can’t stomach violence when it’s _me_ doing it.”

“That’s – that’s not the same thing!” Aang argues. “It’s not the same thing as beating someone up, almost _killing them_ with your bending in cold blood!”

“Isn’t it, though? What do you imagine the army is going to do with your contributions? When they decide to use the attacks _you_ invented for them in order to quash a rebellion here or there, I guarantee you it _won’t_ be peaceful. People are going to die, and whether you strike the killing blow or not, it’ll be because of you.” Katara’s hands are running along her braid, and her words are spilling out; hurt, angry words tumbling out of her mouth in an uncontrollable flow. “What do your monks have to say about that? Why is it okay for you to enable the army’s violence, why is it only okay for you to accept the violence that the Fire Empire does to _me_ and people _like me_ , but not okay for me to fight back when it becomes too much? Have you ever thought about that?”

Her voice has gone shrill now.

“And then for you to _stand there_ and _tell me_ what I did was wrong – as if I don’t _know that?_ As if I’m some sort of _barbarian_ who can’t tell right from wrong? Aang, I know very well what I did when I attacked Chan and guess what? _I did it anyway_. Because I _wanted to_ and because he _deserved to be punished_. And though I know that I went too far and I shouldn’t have attacked him as badly as I did, I _will not_ apologize for defending myself when he and his friends ganged up on me when I was all alone. Or have you forgotten who threw the first punch?”

“I – “ Aang’s face is stricken. “I can’t argue with that, Katara. I suppose I _have_ been unfair to you, and you’re right – I have _no idea_ what it’s like for you, to go through this – and you certainly have the right to defend yourself, but –“ and here he struggles, trying to put his own dilemma into words, “ – but even though I agree with your motives, I can’t agree with the methods you chose to pursue. Vengeance isn’t justice.”

“No. _Justice_ is justice,” Katara returns, crossing her hands over her chest. “It’s funny, because after all this time, _General Iroh_ had a better time understanding that than you, and you’re _supposed to be my friend_.”

“I _am_ your friend, Katara!” Aang insists. “Look – so we disagree about what you did – but can’t we move on? You’ve learned your lesson and I’ve learned mine and – you’re healing Chan and so there’s no lasting damage done, right?”

Katara stares at his earnest face, sizing him up.

_He has no idea. Absolutely no idea._

_And how could he? You and him come from such different worlds, how could he possibly understand?_

“Sparky thinks that we were too hard on you,” Toph speaks up suddenly, her voice brisk and matter-of-fact. “And that we should apologize for that.”

Katara blinks at Toph’s unexpected confession.

“And – and what do you think?” she asks, wondering how in all of this convoluted mess, her greatest advocates have apparently been _Prince Zuko_ and _Crown Prince Iroh_.

Toph shrugs.

“Hey. You know I’ve always wanted to bash Chan’s head in, but there’s a difference between _wishing_ violence upon someone, and actually _inflicting it_.” She pauses. “But, Sparky reminded me that your upbringing was fucked up, so…it makes sense that you’d do something fucked up too. So, unlike Twinkletoes here, _I_ don’t have a problem, in hindsight. They beat you up, you beat them up, it’s all fair, life goes on. If I was a shitty friend to you because I freaked out at how far you were taking it, I apologize.”

Katara can’t help but smile at Toph’s nonchalant statements, and the growing unease spreading on Aang’s face as a result of them.

“Thanks, Toph. I –“ she pauses, looking at the two of them, wondering, because even though she doesn’t _think_ they get it, not just yet, they’re still here, watching her with anxious eyes and they _still care_ , and _she needs all the help she can get_ , “I’ll try to be better, and not resort to violence next time. But I can’t promise anything if someone attacks me. I can’t act in good faith if someone across the aisle won’t do the same.”

“That’s fair,” Toph agrees, holding out her hand. “I can live with that, I suppose.”

“Aang?” Katara’s voice is a little sharper as she meets the young monk’s eyes with her own.

“There is _so much about this_ that makes me uncomfortable,” Aang admits, slightly crestfallen. “But for your sake, Katara, I’ll try to work past it. Because my discomfort isn’t what’s important, compared to what the Fire Empire put you through.”

He holds out his hand too.

Katara flashes the two of them a quick, hesitant smile.

“Thank you,” she says gratefully, clasping their outstretched hands with her own and giving them a quick squeeze.

Because even if things are somewhat awkward and uncomfortable now, they won’t always be. Even if they don’t understand completely, even if they’re not _perfect_ , they’re still willing to try, and right now, that’s all that matters.

* * *

_you’ve got a warm heart_  
_you’ve got a beautiful brain  
_ _but it’s disintegrating_

* * *

 

He is sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor before the fireplace when his uncle finds him later that afternoon.

“What are you doing?” Uncle Iroh asks, bemused.

“Meditating,” Zuko replies, eyes still closed and hands still pressed together in his lap.

“I can see _that_ ,” his uncle replies, scratching his head in confusion, “but _why_? I’ve never known you to be the type to stay inside and brood on such a nice day!”

Zuko sighs. The confusion inside him is still fresh, and the noise inside his head clamours loudly. A bit of meditation helped keep it at bay, but now that Uncle Iroh is here, it comes back to him and –

“Mai and I broke up this morning,” he says, his voice expressionless.

His uncle’s face softens a little, and he walks over to where his nephew sits. He plants a hand on Zuko’s shoulder.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Uncle Iroh says gently. “You must be feeling very sad.”

Zuko shakes his head.

“Not really. I feel more relieved than anything. If I’m sad, it’s because I don’t think I’m sad _enough_. Does…” he opens his eyes and looks up at his uncle, “does that make sense at all, Uncle?”

“Of course it does.” Uncle Iroh lowers himself so that he is kneeling on the ground beside Zuko. “It means that you made the right decision, Prince Zuko. Even if it was difficult.”

“I’ll say.” Mai’s words are still echoing inside his head. The ones that had relieved him, the ones that had freed him, the ones that had filled him with despair…

“How was the trial?” he asks his uncle, trying to change the subject. “How…how is she?”

He can’t bring himself to say her name, even.

Because Mai was _right_ , after all, and he’s deluding himself if he thinks she’ll ever see him differently, no matter how hard he tries to do the right thing.

“The trial went well, I would say,” Uncle Iroh says, his voice growing warmer as he launches into a brief retelling of his morning. “It did not surprise me that Admiral Chan was being difficult –“

“He would be,” Zuko murmurs. “It was his son that was attacked.”

“Of course, and it was to be expected,” Uncle Iroh admits, stroking his pointed beard with a thoughtful hand. “But he came around, in the end.”

“However did you manage that, Uncle? Did you promise him the waterbender’s head, or just the hand that struck his son?” Zuko fights to keep the bitterness from his scathing voice.

“Neither.” Uncle Iroh smiles at him. “After a very lengthy cross-examination, I was able to get him to agree to a formal apology. Him _and_ his son – whenever young Chan recovers, that is.”

“That doesn’t seem likely,” Zuko remarks. “The healers say he is unlikely to make it through the next week without some – miraculous – intervention.”

The fresh scar on his chest tingles, as though in memory of the glowing water, the healing hands, that had pulled him from the brink of the abyss.

“Well,” Uncle Iroh winks at him. “Luckily I was able to procure a miracle worker to work on Chan’s injuries, then.”

“Huh?”

“Sifu Katara,” Uncle Iroh clarifies, casting a sidelong glance at his nephew’s somber face, “She has healing abilities, and you didn’t even tell me?”

Zuko’s eyes widen and he turns to glance at his uncle sharply.

“Maybe you thought to protect her secret,” Uncle Iroh muses. “Out of honour.”

Zuko nods his head slowly, and turns his gaze to the floor.

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” he says softly.

“I understand, Prince Zuko,” his uncle acknowledges. “Nonetheless, Sifu Katara offered to heal Chan, of her own volition. It was truly remarkable. A happy ending, if I’ve ever seen one here before.”

“Good,” Zuko comments.

A happy ending. For everyone, but himself.

He should feel happy for her, he reminds himself. For all that she’d been put through, it’s about time something went right for her.

He shouldn’t be so selfish.

“Your friend is truly formidable,” his uncle continues, clasping his hands together in his lap. “Very little escapes her.”

“Yes,” Zuko agrees, but then goes on to correct his uncle with a sigh. “But she’s not my friend.”

“Maybe not yet,” Uncle Iroh says gently. “But there is no chasm that time cannot bridge. With time, maybe Sifu Katara will come to see you differently.”

“I...” Zuko flounders, his uncle’s words at odds with Mai’s, and he struggles with which of the two he should believe. “I don’t think I believe that’s possible, anymore.”

“And this upsets you?” Uncle Iroh’s tone is mild enough, but Zuko can hear it, just below the surface of his voice.

“It would just make things easier,” Zuko says heavily, with a shrug. “She – she _saved my life_ , Uncle.”

“Yes, she told me that,” Uncle Iroh says solemnly, and his eyes are keen and thoughtful in his somber face.

“And she didn’t have to.” Zuko turns his head to meet his uncle’s gaze with confused eyes. “Do you understand? She _hates_ me, Uncle, and she still saved my life. She’s –“ _the strongest person I know. So pure, and so broken, and so very lost_ , he finishes in his mind, unable to speak.

“I do not think she _hates_ you, Prince Zuko,” his uncle says gently at length.

“She just as good as _told_ me that,” Zuko insists, running his hands through his unruly hair. _With her words and her anger and her actions…_

And the uncertainty giving way to rage in her eyes, the day they’d fused their bending. Zuko is almost certain that, had she not been reeling from that unwelcome discovery, she wouldn’t have been so quick to lash out at Chan. 

She’d lost her old boyfriend to save him.

She’d let him in and _hated it_.

_Mai was right. She was right all along…_

He’s hanging on to a fool’s hope.

“Katara _does_ have much hatred and anger in her heart,” his uncle says quietly. “It is unlikely that she would have survived up until now without such things. It is not for you to decide when it is appropriate for her to let them go, for your sake. All you can do is show her another way.”

“I know,” Zuko admits, because he _does_ , _of course he does_ , “I’m _trying_ , but –“

“Good.” Uncle Iroh smiles at him warmly. “You are doing what you can, my nephew. It is the right thing to do. Will it be enough to change her mind? Who knows? Only she can decide for herself. That does not mean you give up.”

“I haven’t.”

Uncle Iroh lays a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“We will continue this conversation later. There is much that remains for me to do here. In the meantime, Prince Zuko, do not be too hard on yourself. Meditate, bathe, take some rest. Perhaps tomorrow, we will take a look at your training, start you on something more advanced. I think you are ready for it.”

“That sounds good,” Zuko hears himself agreeing, as his uncle gets to his feet with a smooth motion that belies his years. “I can’t wait to show you what I’ve learned in these past months. I might even have already mastered some of the advanced techniques that you want to teach me.”

“Oh really?” his uncle returns, a sly grin crossing his face as he turns to leave the room. “I am pleased to hear it. But I am sure that there is one thing that you’ll still need an old man’s help to learn.”

“What would that be?”

Uncle Iroh winks at him from the doorway.

“Have you learned to control lightning yet?” 

* * *

_you could still be_  
_what you want to be_  
_what you said you were  
_ _when i met you_

* * *

 

The shackles have been long removed from her wrists and ankles but she still feels the weight of them as she steps inside the tent, looking around expectantly, hesitantly.

_You_ volunteered _for this_ , she reminds herself as her heart begins to pound in her chest. _You’ll feel better afterward_.

A girl dressed in red silk appears at a doorway to her left, as though to exit the premises. Her face is downturned as she walks, but she stops in her paces as she notices Katara standing there.

Katara’s breath catches in her throat as Mai’s gaze sweeps over her, coolly impassive as always. It is too late to pretend that she hasn’t seen her, too late to look away and pray that an awkward encounter could be avoided. She’s never had a problem with Mai, not _personally_ , but the girl is cold, quiet and, of late, has been giving off a slightly judgmental air.

“So,” Mai speaks first, her voice low and quiet as always. “They let you out.”

Katara nods mutely, not really sure what to make of Mai’s indifferent attention to her.

“I was just checking in on him,” Mai continues baldly, nodding her head back in the direction from which she’d come. “You really did a number on him.”

Her tone isn’t exactly accusatory, but Katara is not stupid. As far as she knows, there is no love lost between Mai and Chan, but they are both _Fire Nation_ through and through. As far as she’s concerned, Katara may as well have attacked Mai herself.

“I didn’t mean to –“ she begins half-heartedly, but Mai cuts her off.

“Yes you did. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you did it anyway. I don’t know why you bother with playing the victim around here, you’ve got a lot more fire in you than people would credit a girl from the Water Tribes.”

Once upon a time, Katara would have fired back right away. Once upon a time, she would have been unable to hold back the tidal wave of anger unleashed by the firebenders and their ignorant words.

But General Iroh had asked her for time and General Iroh – _prince of the Fire Empire_ and the man in charge of this entire operation – is on her side.

So Mai can go jump in a ditch for all she cares, but for now, Katara is content to leave justice in someone else’s hands.

“I suppose you would think that, being Fire Nation and all,” she says simply. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t speak lightly of things you don’t understand at all.”

That doesn’t mean Katara is going to let her off the hook so easily, though.

Mai raises an eyebrow. The sight of it unsettles Katara, because it’s the most expression she’s ever seen on the impassive girl’s face.

“I understand more than you think,” Mai points out. “It still doesn’t give you the right –“

“As far as your precious empire is concerned, I _have_ no rights,” Katara counters, struggling to suppress the instinct to _fight back_ , and instead, embrace the alien tactic of _surrender_ and _tranquility_ , and it all feels very wrong to her, but _still_ , “and I’m sure you _think_ you understand me. But the truth is, you haven’t even tried. You don’t know a thing about me. Why would you? You have it _all_ – you're a nobleman’s daughter, a prince’s girlfriend, a high-ranking officer in the army – why on _earth_ would you trouble yourself with understanding me when you could just make assumptions and go on with your comfortable life?”

There is a sad smile breaking out on Mai’s face, and she is very quiet before she speaks again.

“You really can’t do any wrong here, can you?” she says, her voice suggesting that she is not really asking a question at all. There is a thoughtful, almost wistful look in her pale grey eyes as she surveys Katara standing before her, and it makes the waterbender feel unusually uncomfortable.

“I did just spend a week in solitary,” Katara points out, unsure of whether their discussion is antagonistic or amicable. “So…I don’t think you’re quite right there.”

Mai is quiet again, and Katara can _see_ the thoughts whirling in her mind, reflected in her eyes.

“General Iroh presided over your case, didn’t he?” she asks at last.

Katara nods.

Mai sighs and shakes her head slowly.

“What did he say? There’s no way you got out scot-free after what you did.”

Mai’s line of questioning unnerves her. But, it is preferable to her earlier accusations and so, Katara decides to engage.

“You’re right,” she says. “I’m out for a price. I – I’m healing Chan.”

Mai gives her a blank look.

“Healing him?” she echoes.

Katara nods her head.

“How? What good will that do?” Mai blurts out, her confusion palpable to Katara’s senses. “No offense, but – what could you possibly contribute that our best healers haven’t already?”

Katara sighs.

_There is still such a long way to go_.

“To you, probably not much,” is all she says, now tired of the conversation.

“You really _can’t_ do any wrong here,” Mai sighs in exasperation. “It must be nice.”

_I’ve had enough._

“I should go,” Katara says abruptly, gesturing to the hallway in front of her. Mai’s tone-deaf ignorance is grating on her last nerve, and she wants nothing more to do with it.

“Me too,” Mai says, with a curt nod.

But for a moment, she doesn’t move and neither does Katara. They stand across from each other, frozen, caught in an awkward standstill, neither one willing to break its grip and return back to reality.

Then –

“You know,” Mai says off-handedly, almost indifferently, but for the slight quaver in her voice that betrays her, “he really thinks highly of you.”

Katara’s brow furrows.

“Who?” she asks, baffled, her eyes following Mai as she walks past her and toward the doorway leading out of the tent. “General Iroh?”

Mai stops right at the doorway and turns to face her. Silhouetted against the afternoon sun, low in the sky, she really does cut an elegant, formidable figure.

“I’m not talking,” she says very slowly in a low voice, slightly louder than a whisper, each word forceful and _cold_ , as though Katara has wounded her to the core with her ignorance, “about _General Iroh_.”

Katara’s heart speeds up a mile a minute, even as the colour slowly drains from her face.

_My nephew witnessed much of this incident…I trust his judgment…_

_Sparky thinks that we were too hard on you._

_My nephew informs me that you are a force to be reckoned with._

_Sparky reminded me that your upbringing was fucked up…_

“Oh,” is all she is able to say, as realization washes over her like the cold morning tide.

“For whatever reason that truly escapes me,” Mai continues abruptly, and her voice is acerbic and her tone is like a knife thrust to the chest, and her face, shadowed in the light, is a tightly-held mask, “he really does, and he doesn’t deserve your hatred. Whatever you think he did, he doesn’t deserve that.”

“I know,” Katara says quietly. “And I’m -”

Mai’s face breaks into a bitter smile and she lets out a laugh that is equal parts mirth and devastation.

“If that’s an apology you’re planning on making, don’t waste it on _me_.”

She takes one last look at Katara, before shaking her head again, as though in amused resignation, before she steps out of the tent and away, into the distance.

Katara has never _disliked_ the girl, not really, but after this particularly uncomfortable encounter, she cannot say she is unhappy to see the back of her just about now.

“So you’re the waterbender.”

Katara snaps out of her little reverie and turns around.

Standing behind her is a grizzled old woman who looks tough as nails, dressed in a red healer’s robe. Katara assumes she is the chief medic here as the old woman approaches her and surveys her impassively.

“I am,” Katara replies, her voice a thread of sound escaping her throat.

“Hm,” the old woman muses, with a slight sniff. “How I’m supposed to believe a skinny thing like you was able to put that boy in that condition is beyond me. But, my orders are not for me to question. You say you can heal him?”

“I can try,” Katara says uncertainly, still not entirely sure what she’s gotten herself into. “I don’t really know what I’m dealing with though.”

The old woman’s eyes widen incredulously, before she schools herself to a neutral resting expression.

“I see,” she comments bluntly. “Well, let’s get a move on, then. Follow me.”

The woman turns on her heel and makes her way briskly through a hallway of curtained doorways. Katara follows, lagging behind a few paces.

“Of course, I don’t have to tell you that if you try to hurt that poor boy any more than you already have, it will be the last thing you do.” The old woman’s voice has not changed in tone at all, but Katara does not doubt the strength in her wiry old body.

“Of course,” Katara says quietly, clasping her hands in front of her, even as a small part of her bristles at the threat. “I don’t want to cause anymore trouble.”

“I should think not,” the old woman says, stopping in front of a doorway at the end of the hall. “My name is Jia. What is your name?”

“Katara.”

The old woman, Jia, nods slowly.

“Follow me. But be careful not to disturb anything.”

She pushes the curtain aside and walks inside. Katara, hesitating a little, follows her inside.

The room inside is small and dark. The curtains at the window are pulled tightly shut and the only light in the room comes from the brazier in the corner, glowing with smoking herbs on the red-hot coals. Katara smells the fragrances in the air, thick with healing vapours. Lavender, sage, allheal…

“We have been trying to keep him stable,” Jia whispers. “But there is fluid in the lungs and his ribs are broken, so it is hard for him to draw breath. And where there is no breath, there is no life.”

Katara’s heart drops to her stomach as she spies the prone figure stretched out on the bed in the centre of the room. Chan’s face looks waxy pale and his hair is out of its topknot, lying in lifeless strands around his sunken face, across the pillow. There are bandages around his jaw and nose, Katara sees, and a thick, warm blanket covers the rest of his body.

“Can I examine him?” Katara asks quietly, somehow forgetting how to breathe at the sight of Chan’s deathly face.

Jia nods, her stern face softening a little.

Katara is grateful that the old woman doesn’t hover, and instead, chooses to give her space. She steps up to the bedside and places a hand over Chan’s head, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

_Focus_.

And it doesn’t take much for her to tune in to all the water in his body. The water in his blood, tissues, muscles, even the water in his bones…she follows the path of it all, trying to assess the damage.

She senses the breaks in his jawbone and nose, and traces her hands in a path down the line of his airways, following the tears in his throat and lungs, to the water that should not have been in his lungs, to the fragments of his ribs floating in his chest cavity. To the pulse of his heart, flagging, with barely enough strength to alert her senses to its continuous beat.

_I did this_.

It takes all of her strength to keep going, keep assessing the extent of the damage. Mai and Jia had not been exaggerating when they said he was in bad shape. She is reassured by the flow of humours in his body, sluggish but present, but all the same…

“I need water,” Katara says, forcing her voice to be steady and strong. “Clean water, preferably cool, if you have it."

It is a mark of the trust Jia has in her word that she doesn’t protest at the notion of giving her water to wield in Chan’s presence. Instead, she nods her head slowly and leaves, returning promptly with a bucket of clear spring water pumped from the well outside the tent.

Katara draws the water from the bucket and pulls it close to her hands, like strange, glowing, blue gloves. She presses her hands to Chan’s chest, where he needs the most help. His jaw and nose will heal in time, but his lungs are a different story.

“Can you heal him?” Jia asks in a quiet voice, watching Katara at work.

She passes over his ribs, up and down, focusing on the bone, blood, pleura, water, all the pieces that she herself left behind in her anger, all the pieces she has to put back together before she can safely say that he’s out of danger.

“You’ve done a good job at keeping him stable, Jia,” she says, not looking up from the task ahead of her. “There’s…a lot to do before he’ll be okay. It’ll take a lot of time. Days, weeks even. There’s a lot of damage for me to fix.”

Her voice weakens at the end.

_So much damage to fix, and Chan is just the first step_.

She sets her mouth, wishing the water could fix everything broken inside her, too.

But things are not so simple.

What lies before her, beyond the healing hut, beyond Chan, is the real challenge.

She doesn’t know if she’s ready.

“But I’ll do my best and hopefully, that’ll be enough.”

She only knows that she has to try.

* * *

_when you met me  
_ _when i met you_

* * *

She doesn’t know how she avoids bumping into the others as she traverses the length and breadth of the base camp after exiting the healing tents. The cross-training clearing, the practice arena, the mess hall, the armoury, the officer’s quarters…

Her feet guide her from spot to spot without her really having to think, and it’s probably for the best that she is letting her instincts run the show. If she allows her mind to take control, just for a second, she might get cold feet and shrink away, instead of doing what has been long overdue for her.

After all, if today is the day she slays her demons one by one, then she cannot put this off any longer.

She rounds the corner of the boys’ sleeping quarters and spots the subject of her uncertain pursuit.

Prince Zuko is wading out of the shallows of a small pond, the one behind the building, the one the men use for their baths. His attention is squarely focused on the ground in front of him, as his hands do up the drawstring around the waist of his loose-fitting trousers, slung low against the protrusion of his hipbones. His hair is still wet and hangs in a shaggy curtain in front of his face, while gleaming droplets of water stream down the lines of his powerful shoulders, his arms, his bare, sculpted torso…

It is only when he stiffens, realizes that he’s being watched, and raises his eyes to see her standing with her arms crossed by the back wall of the building, that she feels a trickle of doubt. Just a trickle. But as the confusion on his face wars with a slight flush on his face and a wary glance around, to see if anyone else is present, she summons what nerve she has left and speaks before he can even open his mouth to ask her what she’s doing here.

“You didn’t tell your uncle,” she blurts out, not really paying attention to the words that come out of her mouth, only focusing on getting the first word in. “About my healing,” she adds to clarify, as Zuko’s brow creases and he tilts his head in confusion.

“Oh.” Zuko looks uncomfortable to her, and shifts his weight from foot to foot slowly, weighing whether to take a step onto dry land, closer to where she stands in the shadows, or to remain with his feet immersed on the shore. “No. I suppose not.”

“Why?”

Deep down, Katara knows the answer. But she wants to hear it, just to make sure, before pressing forward, because this is something she’s never done before and even though it doesn’t _feel_ like a risk, not now, every inch of her remains on edge.

“Because,” Zuko says politely, cautiously, as though afraid any word of his will incur her wrath, “you hid it for a reason and it wasn’t my place to tell.”

He looks down at himself, and then back up at her, and he appears somewhat discomfited. “Is this really the best time –“

“You told your uncle that Chan insulted me,” Katara cuts across his tentative protest, feeling dizzy and short of breath, but holding course regardless, because _this has to be done_ , “Why?”

Zuko’s face is a little redder now, and he looks back down at himself, sighs, and takes a step out of the water. His feet are bare and caked with sand.

“It was the truth,” he answers, with a small, helpless shrug. He presses his lips together, tightly, before hesitantly continuing. “If you’re mad that I intervened –“

“No,” Katara interrupts him, also taking a small step forward, and then another. “No, that’s not it. I –“

Her arms drop to her sides, but her hands find each other and she’s twisting her fingers together in indecision.

“I –“

Across from her, maybe a dozen footsteps away, Zuko is still, afraid to move lest she snap at him again, and the guilt is overwhelming and then –

“I can’t be this person anymore,” she says breathlessly, in a voice so quiet it is barely more than a whisper. But the ill-concealed surprise in Zuko’s face and the abrupt stiffening of his posture tell her that he has no trouble hearing her, and she continues in somewhat of a rambling rush, “I can’t, I just can’t. I’ve tried holding on to it, you see, I thought that I would be betraying myself if I didn’t, but – but – but I’m just so _tired_ of it now, I’m _exhausted_ and I want it to stop. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t.”

The water in the pond crests and dashes over the shoreline in small, rushing waves. It froths and skims over the tops of Zuko’s feet, washing the sand away, and recedes as quickly as it came. The sound is soothing to her. It grounds her, and reminds her of who she is and where she comes from and what they first taught her.

It reminds her of the person she wants to be.

“And you,” she continues, her voice gaining a thread of intensity that hadn’t been there before, “ _you_ –“ she takes another step forward, “ – you’ve always been on my side. You’ve always taken my side, you defend me, help me – even when I asked you not to, even when I was _awful_ , you – you still did it, and – I – “

She swallows hard before looking him in the eye and bracing herself.

“I’m in your debt,” she says to him, her voice quiet but firm. “I owe you, for what you did –“

“There is no debt,” Zuko says flatly. His face is unreadable once again, the surprise and discomfort gone and replaced with something akin to resignation. But his hand reaches up to lightly touch the new scar on his chest, just above where his heart lies, prominent against the stark white skin. Katara can’t help but stare at her handiwork, dimly remembering the feeling of her hands on his chest, the flagging pulse of his heart, the sticky warmth of his lifeblood. Her skills have not waned over the years, despite the Fire Empire’s best efforts. “You saved my life that night. I owed you. Now we’re even. Don’t trouble yourself over trying to repay me. I don’t want it.”

He trudges out of the shallows, where the water laps at his ankles, and makes his way for dryer ground. Katara would have judged him distant and cold in this moment, as he walks past her, if it hadn’t been for the twin spots of red flushing on his cheeks still.

“What I meant was,” she tells him quietly, reaching out and placing a tentative hand on his shoulder to arrest his progress, “I think I owe you an apology. Or an explanation. If – if you want to hear it, that is. After – after everything, I’d understand if you didn’t.”

She almost thinks she’d _prefer it_ if he chose to hold a grudge, the way she had. And then that way she could tell herself she tried, but he had rebuffed her attempts, and it was reasonable for him, and then they could go on as they were in peace.

“You don’t need to explain anything,” Zuko says heavily. “You were right to be angry with me. I thought I was trying to apologize to you, earlier, but I was making it all about me. You have the right to conduct yourself any way you want.”

She can feel the pulse of his blood, beating quickly under the skin of his shoulder. He is warm to the touch, almost uncomfortably so, or maybe she is only imagining that her hand burns where it touches him.

“That doesn’t mean –“ she takes a deep breath and in her head she thinks, _Just say it already_ , and her mouth opens and all of a sudden, “I’m _tired of this_ , Zuko.”

She _feels_ his muscles under her palm go taut with the tension that floods his entire body. His heartbeat has skyrocketed and it pounds in her ears, against her fingertips, echoing somewhere inside of her. She slowly withdraws her shaking hand as he slowly, incredulously turns to face her.

“Tired of what?” he asks her. His eyes are wide, but one is smaller than the other, slitted in the scar on his face. It imbalances his otherwise striking, symmetrical, fair features.

“All of this,” Katara confesses with a vague gesture of her hand that indicates the empty space between them. “I’m tired of being angry and I’m tired of holding a grudge, and I’m tired of trying to hate you for who you are and where you come from when, the truth is, I know better.”

Zuko opens his mouth, and then closes it. Up close, she can feel the heat emanating from him in waves, and smell traces of the soap he’d used to wash himself. It smells like yuzu and star spice, like the glowing coals of a dying fire.

“I _know_ that you’re not the monster I thought you were, I know that you’re better –“ she swallows past her reservations and the part of her that’s petrified by this admission, still, “ – probably _much_ better than I am, right now. I’m – I’m not proud of the way I’ve been behaving here, with what I did to Chan and how unfair I’ve been to you... and I don’t suppose I have an excuse for that –“

“It’s okay,” Zuko says hoarsely, his low voice rasping against his throat.

“No! No, it’s _not_!” Katara exclaims. “I was wrong about you, alright? I was _so wrong._ It’s _far from okay_. But – but – I want to –“

She feels herself floundering, running out of words to say, and the worst part is, she isn’t even _sure_ what she’s trying to tell him anymore. Has she said enough? Is there anything _left_ to say?

Zuko is very quiet and very still. It would have unsettled her if she hadn’t been so focused on the slurry of words caught in her throat, all threatening to come up at once in an incoherent babble of drivel.

“I get it,” he says, cutting across the whirl of her thoughts. “I didn’t at first, but now I do. You feel the way you do for your own reasons, and even though I don’t have to like it, that’s – just the way it is.”

She stares at him, her confusion forgotten for an instant.

“If – if it’s just easier this way for you, that’s fine, I –“ Zuko runs a hand awkwardly through his hair, “I’m used to it, I suppose, but – you really don’t owe me anything, Katara. Thanks for trying, though.”

He makes as if to turn away.

It strikes Katara out of the blue, the realization that’s he’s _bitter_ about her resentment and her quick anger and her words. And she can’t blame him.

Guilt pools in her chest, lending her voice strength.

“What makes you think I’m doing this for _you_?” Katara demands abruptly, suddenly finding her voice in the fear of losing this opportunity to make it right. “I’m doing this for _me_ , okay? This is – this is what I _want_.”

Zuko’s face twists into a frown.

“Are you _sure_?” he asks her carefully. “Because you – you look like you just want to turn around and run the other way right now.”

“I’m not going to lie, that’s _exactly_ how I feel,” Katara replies, her face heating up. “And I’ve never done this before and maybe that’s why this is all new to me – but –“

She takes a deep breath.

“I’m _tired_. Okay? I’m tired of carrying all this hatred around inside me,” she says, and her voice is finally clear and even and steady, the way she wants it to be, “and if I want to be okay again, I have to start somewhere. I – I can’t stop hating the people who hurt me, or the people who continue to hurt me, or the ones who put me down for who I am and where I come from, _those_ guys can all burn on a pyre for all I care – but –“

She lifts her gaze to meet his golden eyes, which have the strangest look in them, she’s grateful she can’t read its meaning.

“But you’ve never hurt me, and you’ve never put me down, and you’ve always respected my wishes, even when you didn’t like them, and I –“

She takes a step toward him and crosses her arms across her chest.

“I’m think I’m ready now.”

Zuko wears a puzzled look on his face, and it takes a few moments before he is able to form words.

“What are you saying?”

There is a fleeting collage of emotions, almost imperceptible, dancing in his eyes. Confusion, shock, dismay, hope…

“I’m saying,” Katara clarifies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “that I don’t want to hate you anymore, Zuko. I don't want to be angry. And I’m sorry for the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve it. And,” she swallows again before she starts stuttering all over the place, “and even though it might be a while before I can be comfortable with the idea of trusting you or – or being friends with you, I – you should know that I want to try.”

Zuko is rigidly still now, and he is quiet for so long Katara is worried that she’s gone and offended him.

“ _Really_?” Zuko whispers and the intensity in his voice makes her jump a little. “You mean it?”

Katara nods slowly.

“I think so.” A thought comes to her, terrifying in its reality. “Unless you’d rather not.”

But then she looks at him again and realizes that she’s speaking nonsense.

The most curious change has swept across his face. He looks… _happy_.

It’s only when she notices the slight quirk playing around the corners of his mouth that she realizes that she’s never seen him smile. Not _properly_.

But his eyes give him away. They’re lit up with a brightness she’s never seen in them before, and there’s a bit of a crinkle in the corners that reminds her of General Iroh’s eyes when he smiles, that softens the striking harshness of his face and makes her want to hide.

“No,” Zuko shakes his head at her. “I’d – I just didn’t think you ever–“

“Me neither.” Katara feels a thousand pounds lighter, as she vehemently adds, “I didn’t think I _could_.”

“Well.” Zuko regards her somberly, the fleeting half-smile gone as quickly as it’d arrived. “Thank you for changing your mind.”

“I didn’t do it _for you_ ,” Katara retorts.

“I know.” Zuko nods. “But thank you anyway.”

He turns away from her again, as though to leave, and something inside her forces her to call out after him.

“I know you’re your father’s son and all…but after I thought about it, you remind me more of your uncle.”

The smile in his eyes hitches, but only briefly.

“You’ve been so patient and considerate and – well – _selfless_ ,” Katara continues, and she isn’t sure why she’s saying this, only that it feels right and with each word, she feels lighter still. “Your uncle seems like a good man, and well –“

“He is,” Zuko says, his voice oddly flat and restrained. He takes a couple of steps back, away from her. “But I’m not as selfless as you think I am.”

Katara stares at him quizzically, even as he retreats from her slowly, the space between them widening with each step he takes.

“What do you mean?”

In the distance, she sees him run a hand through his hair in frustration, before he shakes his head and disappears into the building behind them.

_That was strange_.

The cool autumn breeze whistles through the skeletal tree branches around her, whispers across the surface of the pond behind her, rustling the warm linen draped around her body.

_Now where do we go from here?_

Though she feels like a great burden has been lifted from her chest, it is still strangely difficult to breathe. 

Her hand is still warm.

* * *

**author's note.** .... :)

so that just happened.

about time, too. 

love it? hate it? want more? let me know!


	14. thought and conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General Iroh challenges everyone to a game of pai sho

**disclaimer.** atla & its associated content are property of bryke, i am just a cheap but earnest knockoff.

 **author's notes.** well. that took a lot longer than i anticipated - there were days where i'd just write and delete and write and delete, over and over again. going back to the narrative's "normal" pace after four straight chapters of high intensity was difficult, but we do need to return to some more rising action/worldbuilding/character-developing before we can truly hit the story's main conflict... which is not necessarily a bad thing but certainly not as much fun to write as the really dramatic, action-packed, fast-paced, compelling parts. but oh well. you take the ups with the downs.

speaking of ups...thank you SO MUCH to everyone who's been following! i am absolutely humbled and grateful for the overwhelming response i've gotten over the last few chapters - so once again, thank you for taking the time to let me know what you think! it is one of the best parts of writing this thing. please do keep it up! you are all awesome.

without further ado, i give you...

**southern lights**

**chapter xiv.**  thought and conspiracy

* * *

 _i can feel the ice begin to crack_  
_and then there were signs but chances  
_ _burning through me_

“will you fade”/ love spirals downward

* * *

They are summoned just before the crack of dawn the next morning.

“Remind me to _kill_ the jerk who decided that this was an acceptable time to wake us up,” Toph grumbles, fighting a yawn as she trudges alongside Katara to the clearing by the river where they do their cross-training exercises.

“Remind you?” Katara mutters savagely in reply, rubbing at her tired eyes blearily. In her other hand, she holds a lantern to light the way. “I’ll _help_ you.”

Though they are no strangers to early mornings, of late their training schedules have been pushed later into the day, to accommodate for the longer and cooler nights of the changing season. Thus, it was to the chagrin of both girls that they awoke that morning much earlier than expected to a sky full of stars, a brisk night wind, and the abrupt rapping on the door jolting them from slumber and informing them of an early training session.

When they arrive at the clearing, they find Aang and Zuko similarly disheveled.

“Surprise wake-up for you too, huh?” Toph remarks to them.

“No kidding,” Aang groans. His protuberant grey eyes are creased and puffy. “I used to _love_ waking up at the crack of dawn back when I lived with the monks. But that was a long time ago. I’m all out of practice.”

Zuko just nods at the two of them in acknowledgment, seemingly too tired to speak at all.

Katara feels a jolt in her stomach as his eyes pass over her, and she forces herself to smile at him and nod back as she sets her lantern down.

He drops his gaze and resumes scrutinizing the tips of his toes with renewed interest.

With some effort, she makes herself pay attention to the conversation unfolding between Toph and Aang, feeling the heat rise slowly to her face.

 _Give it some time_ , she tells the uncertain part inside of her that is still, somehow, unconvinced. _You spent so much time hating him. Of course it won’t feel normal just yet._

She doesn’t know what she was expecting, to be honest.

“Good morning,” says a voice from behind the four of them, and they snap to attention almost immediately.

Standing before them are Jeong-Jeong and General Iroh, both clad warmly in thick black cloaks. Neither holds a lantern in the dim morning light – instead, a plume of bright yellow flame hovering over Jeong-Jeong’s open palm illuminates their lined faces.

The four of them bow in unison.

“No need for that!” General Iroh exclaims, with a little laugh. He waves his hand gently, and torches surrounding the perimeter of the clearing spring to life. “At ease.”

They comply.

“You must be wondering why I have summoned you all here so early in the morning,” General Iroh begins at leisure.

“ _This was his idea?_ ” Toph hisses under her breath.

“Still planning on killing him?” Katara mutters wryly. “I don’t think that’d work out so well.”

“So I guess you’re not helping then.”

“Nope. Sorry.”

General Iroh clears his throat politely. Katara and Toph fall silent instantly.

“Thank you. I know, it is early for all of us,” he continues mildly. “But the day of a General is busy, to say the least, and I am most intrigued by the stories my good friend Jeong-Jeong has told me of your progress."

“The General would like to see a small demonstration of your abilities,” Jeong-Jeong says to them. “As he _is_ the man who originally conceived of the idea of the Avatar project, I feel that this much is owed him.”

Katara’s jaw drops.

_Team Avatar was Crown Prince Iroh’s idea all along?_

She doesn’t know what to make of it. The ambition behind their cross-training had always seemed simple to her – to add a new bending power, the likes of which the world had never known, to the arsenal of the Fire Empire’s army.

But Iroh – the Crown Prince and General of the Empire’s army – had struck her as a man more interested in _building_ bridges, rather than burning them. Why on _earth_ would he have dreamt up this idea?

_What is he up to?_

Katara has no time to nurse her misgivings, however, as Jeong-Jeong has the four of them take up one of each corner of the rectangular arena. He instructs them to spar in a melee, similar to last time, for a period of fifteen minutes.

“Bending _only_ ,” he warns. “No direct hits, no hand-to-hand contact. And try not to kill each other,” this directed at Katara, wearily, “just this once.”

But to Jeong-Jeong’s surprise, he needn’t have bothered airing his qualms about the nature of their team dynamic.

This time, the four of them take and yield ground in a disciplined fashion. The restriction against actual physical contact means that none of them are able to get too close to each other, but each holds their own remarkably well.

In contrast to her usual style, Toph adopts a more defensive style of earthbending, focusing more on deflecting the attacks rather than getting under her opponents’ feet.

Aang, on the other hand, is trying his best to channel more aggression into his movements. When met by fire and water alike, he focuses on holding his ground and putting up a strong offense, rather than dodging and weaving as he is inclined to do.

As far as Katara is concerned, she is neither defensive nor offensive. In the blink of an eye, she is able to change the nature of her movements, from a shielding wall of water to a multi-pronged water whip lashing out. She supposes her bending has always had this natural advantage of versatility, and for the first time since Pakku has she reveled in it. The water is an extension of her, the water is _part_ of her, and here, in the throes of what could be called a friendly sparring match, she remembers just how much she _loves_ being a waterbender.

Strangely enough, it is Zuko who falls first. He fights with his usual stamina but he appears somewhat distracted. The flames he bends at them are redder in colour than usual, and move without the same finesse or control. He puts up a strong fight against Katara and her giant wave, but in turn fails to notice the rolling boulder Toph sends in his direction, which knocks him off his feet and decisively to the ground.

“Whoops,” Toph says, a little abashedly.

“That will be all for now,” Jeong-Jeong calls out, holding up a hand to stem the fighting. He looks somewhat surprised. “That was well done. All of you.”

General Iroh claps slowly. His face gives nothing away, except his eyes are thoughtful and slightly triumphant.

“I commend you on your work here, Jeong-Jeong,” he says to his friend warmly. “These four young benders, working past their differences and against the inclinations of their bending? That cannot have been easy.”

“You could say that again,” Jeong-Jeong mutters under his breath.

“Now I see four individuals with such a natural rhythm and flow, such instinctive understanding of each others’ movements, and yet…” Iroh falters momentarily, composing himself before he continues, “Yet I see airbenders fighting like earthbenders, and earthbenders fighting like waterbenders, and waterbenders fighting like firebenders. It is most incredible. You should all be very proud of yourselves. Never before in the history of our people, as far as I am aware, has such an exercise in cooperation been attempted between our four races. That it is turning out to be a greater success than I dared to hope fills me with anticipation for what else you will discover.”

 _Cooperation_?

Katara scarcely believes her ears, and yet, the undisguised earnestness in Iroh’s face tells her otherwise.

 _He thinks having Team Avatar will bring us closer together_ , she realizes, her heart pounding, _he doesn’t think of us as a weapon at all._

And she’d felt it, hadn’t she? On the arena, sparring with Toph and Aang and Zuko, testing the limits of her bending without trying to hurt anyone, and without _being_ hurt in turn, she’d been reminded that her bending is _so much more_ than just a weapon.

And if that’s the case, then…

“Though there is something that I have not yet seen, that I would very much like to witness with my own eyes, if possible,” Iroh continues, and he turns his eyes toward first his nephew, and then, slowly, toward Katara.

“Jeong-Jeong tells me that you two somehow managed to fuse your bending,” he says softly, and his tone has changed to one of wonder. “Do you remember how you did it?”

Katara’s face flushes red as she remembers. It had barely been a week ago, but to her, it feels much longer than that. Truth be told, she had barely been paying attention during that fight, her mind preoccupied by Jet and the Dai Li, that to her, the memory of it feels surreal, like a dream.

From the deepening colour of Zuko’s face, she gathers that he is probably in a similar boat.

Neither of them speak.

“Well?” Iroh turns to Zuko expectantly.

Zuko shrugs.

“I have no idea what happened,” he confesses. “We didn’t do it on purpose or anything. It was – kind of an accident.”

“Happy accidents often make for the greatest discoveries,” Iroh says to him, enthusiastically.

“I wouldn’t call it a _happy_ accident, exactly,” Zuko mumbles under his breath.

“If I may ask - what happened during this _accident_?” Iroh presses. “Something out of the ordinary must have occurred, something _specific_ , to trigger such an event.”

Zuko shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he answers, somewhat helplessly. “I wasn’t really thinking at the time – it all happened so fast –“

“That’s right,” Katara speaks up, and Zuko looks surprised that she is lending her voice to his. “It _did_ happen really quickly. I don’t remember much of it, but I must have been acting on pure instinct.” She shrugs too. “I wasn’t paying much attention either.”

“But I was,” Jeong-Jeong says in his deep voice. “I’ll tell you what I saw, General. I had the four of them fighting in a simple melee, one such as this. At a certain point in the fight, Sifu Toph had engaged both Prince Zuko and Sifu Katara in a two-fronted assault. Due to her use of seismic sense, both Zuko and Katara realized that aerial offensives were most effective at evading detection. They united their abilities to stay afloat in the air, General.” His voice goes quiet with reverence. “I saw a firebender and a waterbender moving, thinking, _breathing_ as though they were one.”

Understanding dawns on General Iroh’s face as he contemplates Jeong-Jeong’s words.

“You are saying that before they accidentally fused their bending,” he says to Jeong-Jeong slowly, “they achieved perfect synchronization?”

“It appeared so,” Jeong-Jeong agrees. “Perhaps this was in itself unprecedented. For when else would a firebender and waterbender have worked closely enough to fight with such an understanding of each others’ movements?”

“Perhaps,” Iroh muses, stroking his beard. “Perhaps that is all. Or perhaps there is more to it that meets the eye.”

He faces the four of them.

Behind him, the sky begins to glow with the first morning light. 

“It is time for a lesson. Please, take a seat."

* * *

Katara, Toph, Aang, and Zuko are seated in a row at the edge of the clearing. They are all cross-legged, straight-backed, fists pressed together in their lap, as though readying themselves for meditation.

In a way, Katara supposes they are.

Across from them stands General Iroh, who by now has removed his thick black cloak. Today he is not wearing his military regalia, but instead has opted for a far more comfortable brown robe. Beside him, Jeong-Jeong sits on a flat-topped boulder, his face unreadable.

“Tell me,” Iroh says, assuming a neutral stance. “What is bending?”

_Is this a trick question?_

Katara quickly turns her head to the side. To her relief, she sees Toph and Zuko wearing similarly befuddled expressions, while Aang frowns in concentration.

_Oh good. I’m not the only one confused by this._

“By bending,” Aang begins tentatively, “do you mean the _definition_ of bending, like the _act_ of it?”

“I mean exactly what I say, Sifu Aang,” Iroh replies gently, his face creasing into a serene smile. “What is bending?”

“Bending is –“ Aang stutters a bit, before finding his footing and resuming, ”bending is controlling the elements.”

“Yes,” Iroh nods, “but _what_ is that? _What causes_ bending?”

“Uh…” Aang falters, thinking quickly before answering, “well, the bender causes bending, right? With their body, with their mind –“

“Yes,” Iroh presses, “but _how_?”

Somewhere beside them, Katara hears Zuko groan.

Aang is finally at a loss for words.

“I don’t think I know, sir,” he says meekly.

“Hm.” Iroh’s eyes sweep over the rest of them. “Does anyone else want to take a guess?” He meets Katara’s gaze a second before she is able to look away. “Katara, what about you? What do _you_ think bending is?”

“Uh…” Katara hesitates, thinking hard. After all, Aang wasn’t _wrong_ , not exactly, but his answer had certainly been limited. She thinks of her healing, and how it is like her bending, and at the same time different, before she opens her mouth to answer. “I think bending…has more to do with the flow of energy in your body? And outside your body?”

Iroh beams at her.

“Spoken like a true waterbender. My old friend Pakku certainly trained you well.”

He regards all of them, before lifting his hands to roughly the level of his navel.

“Katara is essentially correct. _Bending_ –“ and here he inhales deeply, “is the harnessing of the energy all around us, by the pathways within our own bodies and minds.”

He begins to move his hands, slowly, in strange, opposing, circular motions.

“There is a reason all the bending masters practice meditation and spiritual training. When we are at one with the world around us, that is when, as benders, we are at our most powerful. That is when the energy from all around us can flow within us, undisturbed.”

“Huh,” Toph mutters, her tone halfway between a snort and a sigh.

Katara is inclined to agree. Though meditation had been a regular part of her training with Pakku, she has always found it irritating and abandoned the practice after coming here.

“All energy is a balance of _yin_ and _yang_ ,” Iroh explains, his hands still moving steadily. Light blue sparks trail from his fingertips, and yet he appears to not notice them. “Light and dark. Positive and negative. How do I know this? Because when the energy falls _out_ of balance, and _yin_ and _yang_ become separated –“

He lunges forward, pointing skyward.

And a great bolt of lightning, bright blue and scalding to the touch, flows up the length of his arms and erupts from his fingertips.

Katara’s breath catches in her throat as she fights the urge to scramble backwards, in fear. Lightning is a fearsome thing to control. She never knew that firebenders had the power to manipulate lightning as well.

“Lightning. The cold-blooded fire.” Iroh relaxes back to a neutral stance, his hands now clasped together in front of him. “Or, the result of separated energies crashing back together to restore balance.”

A short silence follows his words, before Zuko speaks up.

“That’s very well and good, Uncle,” he points out uncertainly, “but what does that have to do with the bending fusion we saw earlier?”

Iroh takes a deep breath, and sweeps the four of them with his thoughtful, amber gaze.

“I have a theory,” he says slowly, “only a theory, you understand, but one that I am interested to test – and in fact, _have_ been testing gradually, with your help. I believe that the four types of bending are more similar than we realize, divided only by the illusion of separation. Once upon a time, with the existence of the Avatar, we had the ability to control multiple elements at once – but now that has been lost from us, and the old divisions stronger and more insurmountable than ever before. How else to account for that, but that the bending of different elements is just the harnessing of different energies all around us? And that somehow, over the years, we have lost that versatility?”

Iroh shrugs helplessly.

“And so I thought: _what if we tried again?_ What if, by bringing together four different benders, equal in age, talent, temperament, and ambition – we could learn, once again, that what divides us is very much unimportant, compared to what unites us? What if, instead of four benders fighting _against_ each other, we had them fighting _with_ each other, in harmony? You have seen enough of each other’s bending to recognize the similarities to your own, faint as they are? I see you observing and applying lessons from other styles of bending and applying them to your own, whether unconsciously or deliberately, to increasing effect. How can that be possible – how can a waterbender or an airbender use the _breathing technique_ of a firebender and experience the same effect, if the different forms of bending are not related somehow in some fundamental manner?”

 _All this time_ , Katara thinks to herself, heart pounding slowly, _I was worried we were being used as a weapon, the strongest weapon the Fire Empire had ever seen._

_And meanwhile, General Iroh just thought of us as some sort of warped science experiment._

She doesn’t know whether she wants to laugh or cry.

“And if we take this supposition as true,” Iroh continues earnestly, his lined face _radiant_ with a new, undisguised glow of excitement, “that the four types of bending are just different parts of a single whole, then can we not apply the same laws of energy to bending itself? That, like _yin_ and _yang_ , when different bending energies are separated and then reunited at once, like we see with lightning, might not something _unexpected_ happen?”

He turns his gaze to Zuko, and then to Katara, in quiet triumph.

“For example – fire and water? Two elements so diametrically opposed to each other, yet always seeking balance.” He holds out one hand, and then the other, as though to demonstrate. “Water, an element of negative _jin_ , always flowing, seeking to fill empty spaces, to nourish and heal, to cool and soothe. Fire, an element of positive _jin_ , constantly moving to _create_ emptiness, to heat and illuminate and innovate. What better example of _yin_ and _yang_ than these two? And yet –“ he begins to make the circular motions with either hand again, as though to generate lightning, but not actually doing so, “water extinguishes the weaker flame, fire in enough quantity will vaporize water, and what is created by either of these but steam?”

Instead of pointing his fingers upward, as he would to generate lightning, Iroh clasps his hands together in front of him.

“You think that because Katara and I were bending in synchronization,” Zuko says slowly, disbelievingly, “our bending fused because our _energies_ somehow interacted?”

“Not just because of your synchronization,” Iroh explains, holding up a finger. “Though I suspect that played a critical role. Remember how we create lightning, Prince Zuko. The energy of firebending, the energy that surrounds us, is first _separated_ into positive and negative energy. Once separated, they seek to join together again. It is the joining of separate, opposite, but equal energies within the body of a firebender that generates lightning. Similarly, I believe that certain combinations of bending – or _benders_ , for that matter – will lend themselves more naturally to such patterns. Fire and water, for example, is a perfect example. When you and Sifu Katara fused your bending, it was not just your movements that were synchronized. Jeong-Jeong said your breathing and your minds were also as one. And, more telling, _both_ you and Katara said that your minds were empty, devoid of thought or emotion. This is also something that we require when creating lightning – peace and calm of mind, a complete surrender to the energy surrounding us. You became more than just a firebender fighting alongside a waterbender. The two of you became vessels, the humble guides of a new union of energy, one that has never been seen before.”

He turns his eager eyes to the rest of them, positively beaming now. 

“It seems like there is a whole word of discovery ahead of us. And for my part, I will stay here, as long as necessary, to help you achieve all the possibilities lying in wait.”

* * *

 _Feel the push and pull within him_ , Katara tells herself patiently, as sweat beads on her brow and her fingers begin to cramp. _Water is water._

It is early afternoon and she is back in the healing tent, seated beside Chan’s comatose form, hands gloved in glowing water. Across the room, waiting for instructions is the old woman Jia. She wears a smock over her medic’s robe, and a concerned expression.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asks softly at one point, as Katara withdraws her hands and lets out a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t know,” Katara mumbles, her shoulders slumping. She massages her hands forcefully, trying to force the cramps out of them. She can raise rivers and turn them into ferocious, all-consuming maelstroms of destruction, but a single block in the healing process and she is but a frustrated novice all over again.

And for all intents and purposes, when it comes to healing, she _is_. She’s never had a master teach her how to heal, not the way Pakku had taught her how to bend. Everything she’s learned, she’s had to figure out on her own, or face the consequences of her failures.

How could it be otherwise? Waterbending itself has been taboo for the last ten years or so of her life. But _healing_? That sacred practice that the firebenders had envied and coveted and tried to possess for their own, long before they tried to wipe out evidence of its existence by rounding up all known healers and killing them? It is no surprise that she has little more than a rudimentary grasp of the subject. There is _nobody left_ to teach her.

Nobody except….

 _No_ , Katara tells herself firmly, shivering a little. _No, I can’t go back to her. Not for this. Especially not for this_. _If his wounds don’t kill him, she certainly will._

Her stomach turns and a brief wave of nausea comes over her.

“You’re not feeling well,” Jia observes, and for the first time since Katara has sat down, she approaches her and rests a bony hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you take a little break?”

“I don’t _need_ a break,” Katara protests, but her hands fall into her lap all the same. “I need to figure out what it is that’s confusing me. I’m stuck, and I don’t know why.”

_Fresh wounds are easy. No matter how deep or how severe, it’s just a single point of entry. Stop the bleeding, let the flesh knit over, heal._

_Burns are more difficult. So many humours. Blood. Pus. Scars. Flesh. Infection. Everything in between. Various levels of damage to determine. Clear the pus. Don’t stop the blood from flowing, it helps to clear the wound. Calm the flesh, let it knit. Test the muscle and the sinew, until they work again. When the infection is over and the pus is gone, then stop the bleeding and let the scars form. Heal._

_Broken bones are hardest of all. Clean breaks are relatively straightforward. Align the ends, let them fuse. Draw blood to the area to purify. Heal._

_But shattered bones? Broken in multiple places? Splintered? How do you find all the pieces? The whole human body is water, but how do you find something that small? And draw it back to the right place? And fuse it? Such a long process. How can you heal that?_

She wishes it were the full moon. At such a time, her bending is at its zenith, drawn by the proximity of the moon and its pull on her chi. But the full moon is not for another week. Chan doesn’t look like he is going to hold out for that long.

“What is it about this boy’s injuries that confuses you so?” Jia asks her. “Compared to what you have healed in the past, how are they different?”

“I don’t know, I –“ Katara’s voice catches in her throat as she looks down at him, in mounting horror. “I thought I could fix this. I thought…”

Her voice trails off.

“He’s going to die,” she says, the panicked realization hitting her abruptly, like a jolt to the spine. “He’s going to die and it’s all my fault.”

Jia is silent and still for a minute, before she speaks again.

“What is he going to die from?” Her voice is calm and unwavering.

Katara lets out a laugh, cynical and dark.

“Do you really want to know?” she asks skeptically. “Okay. Let me run a list by you. Assuming the water in his lungs doesn’t get him first, his ribs are broken into a bunch of tiny pieces, which is making it hard for him to breathe properly – partly because it hurts too much and partly because I think his lungs are being punctured somewhere – there’s too much water and I can’t tell for sure. But if I can’t tell what’s going on inside him, how am I supposed to fix it? Oh, and if I ever figure that out, his jaw and nose are broken too, but those are the easy bits.”

“I see,” Jia nods. “Taken together, it sounds like a daunting task.”

“You can say that again.” Katara shakes her head violently, raking her fingers through her hair, across her scalp.

“But, _individually_ ,” Jia continues pointedly, fixing Katara with her bright, beady eyes, “it is not so bad? If you know to prioritize.”

“I’ve been _trying_ ,” Katara complains, her cheeks glowing red now. “It’s not working.”

“That’s because you’re setting yourself up for failure,” Jia says briskly. “You’re focusing on the hardest part, the things that you cannot see or sense or hope to fix, without removing the lesser hurdles from your path. The broken nose and jaw, the water in the lungs, these are simple for you on their own, are they not?”

“Well – _yes_ , but –“ Katara stammers breathlessly, “ – but they’re not important! Not compared to the damage in his ribs!”

“Yes, but they too are causing him pain, are they not?” Jia counters steadily. “By prolonging his pain, are you not allowing his body’s state to deteriorate even further? True, addressing the breaks in nose and jaw will not save his life, but it may make him more comfortable, make it easier to draw the water forth from his lungs, which may buy you some more time. It may be easier to diagnose the damage once the excess water is gone.” The old woman flashes her a quick, gently reassuring smile. “And, you may also find that repairing one or two small things first will return to you the confidence that you need to heal him for good.”

Katara gapes at Jia.

“That was…very sensible,” she says at last, clearing her throat and raising her hands into position again. “Thank you very much for your advice, Jia.”

Jia nods her head slowly and walks back to her usual spot on the other side of the room. 

By the time Katara leaves the tent for the day, Chan’s face has already lost a bit of its pallor.

* * *

She has just finished dinner and is returning back to her room with Toph when a stern, square-jawed officer intercepts her.

“A message from General Iroh,” he says to her curtly, handing over a roll of parchment sealed with red wax and the flame insignia of the Fire Empire.

Katara nods her thanks, feeling her curiosity mount as the unsmiling soldier turns around and walks away.

“What was that about?” Toph inquires, crossing her arms across her chest as Katara holds the scroll out in front of her.

“I don’t exactly know,” Katara admits, looking around her. “Here, hold my torch, would you? Let’s see what the General wants.”

Toph obliges, holding out her hand to hold the flaming wooden torch high enough for Katara to get a good view as she peels off the thick, waxy red seal and unfurls the parchment scroll.

“It says,” Katara frowns as she reads the message, written precisely and carefully in a calligraphic hand, “ _Dear Katara. Please stop by my quarters after dinner. I would greatly enjoy a cup of tea and a game of pai sho. Relay the message on to Toph also. Your most esteemed General Iroh._ ”

Toph’s brow furrows in confusion.

“All that secrecy over _tea_ and an _old people’s chess game_?” she complains. “And here I was hoping for something exciting.”

“It is a little odd,” Katara comments, feeling a stirring of unease tug at her stomach. “Why wouldn’t the General just ask us earlier today during practice?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to make anyone feel left out?” Toph suggests, as Katara rolls the scroll back up and tucks it into the pocket of her robe.

“Maybe,” Katara replies with a shrug, taking the torch back from Toph. “But who would be left out? I can’t imagine he would invite _us_ and not Aang or his own nephew.”

Her suspicions are confirmed as, some time later, she and Toph hesitantly find themselves outside Iroh’s grand pavilion and are ushered inside by none other than the General himself.

“Please, seat yourselves anywhere,” he insists, holding the door for them and gesturing to the room within.

Katara recognizes it as the room her sentencing had been in, just the day prior. It has been only a day since she met General Iroh, she reflects, but the time that has passed since then feels _much_ longer.

The large rectangular table has been cleared away, she notices. In its stead is a smaller, round wooden table, and set on top of it is a nondescript, checkered board. There are five comfortable-looking chairs arranged around the table. Aang and Zuko occupy two of them. Aang appears politely confused, while Zuko looks downright nervous.

The two girls shrug and seat themselves at the table. Moments later, General Iroh is pulling a pot of tea out from where it hangs in the roaring fireplace, and pouring out cups for each of them.

“Jasmine for tonight, I thought,” he tells them, his eyes twinkling. “Such a warm, pleasing aroma.”

Katara can hardly protest, so she quietly takes the cup in her hand, by the rim where the scalding liquid hasn’t transferred its heat, and blows gingerly at the steaming surface of the clear brown tea.

A cloud of fragrance, smoky and floral and sweet, wafts into her face.

“Thank you,” Aang says with a smile, before taking a cautious sip from his cup.

Katara decides to follow suit. The tea is not quite as sweet as it smells, but she still prefers it to the pungency of the ginseng tea she’d tried yesterday.

“How is it?” Iroh asks him, his broad face still creased in a warm smile. “Do you like it?”

“It’s good, Uncle,” Zuko says quietly.

“It’s _delicious_ ,” Aang chimes in, his eyes sparkling. “How do you brew it so well? I always thought tea was supposed to be bitter, but there isn’t the _slightest_ bit of it here –“

“ _Bitter_?” The smile slides off of Iroh’s face. Instead, he looks absolutely affronted. “Tea is not supposed to be _bitter_. What a waste of leaves, they must have been _scalded_ , what a dreadful loss…”

He shakes his head and replaces the kettle on the mantel above the fireplace, before collecting himself and sitting down at the table with them.

“Who here is familiar with the game of _pai sho_?” he asks innocently, withdrawing a small brown cloth bag from somewhere within his robe’s sleeve.

Toph and Zuko let out a groan, simultaneously.

“I will assume that like my nephew, you too are not a fan, Sifu Toph?” Iroh points out, with a hint of mirth detectable in his voice.

“You could say _that_ again,” Toph declares, shaking her head. “It’s _such_ a boring game when you can’t exactly see what’s going on, you know.”

“It’s not that I’m not a _fan_ ,” Katara hears Zuko sigh under his breath, as he rests his chin on top of his steepled fingers, “I could just go longer without having to play it again, that’s all.”

“And you? Sifu Aang? Katara?” Iroh turns to face them, his face touched with an inquisitive sort of hope. “Are either of you familiar with the game? Or, like your fellow companions, are you lost causes as well?”

“Uh…” Aang falters, casting a sidelong glance at Toph’s disgusted face, “well…I don’t _mind_ it, exactly…”

“Well, that’s a start,” Iroh says happily, before turning to look at Katara expectantly.

Katara shrugs.

“Master Pakku showed me how to play it,” she offers nonchalantly. “I never really liked it, but that’s because I could never win against him. I’m sure I’d like it if I thought I could be good at it.”

“A most perceptive answer, Sifu Katara,” Iroh tells her warmly. “I will be happy to show you the finer intricacies of the game, if you are willing to learn.” His eyes glitter keenly in the firelight, and Katara fights a shiver. “I have always said that pai sho is not just a game.”

Somewhere beside her, Zuko groans again.

General Iroh hums a quiet tune under his breath as he upends the cloth bag in his hand over the pai sho board in front of them. Small round tiles clatter against the weathered wooden surface, tumbling and rolling around noisily.

“As pai sho is traditionally a two-player game,” Iroh intones, picking up a tile inscribed with a white flower, “let us start by dividing ourselves into groups. I will use the light pieces. The rest of you can use the dark ones.”

Katara blinks in surprise.

“You want to play against all _four_ of us?” she repeats, not sure if she has heard him correctly.

Iroh nods, focusing on separating the light and dark tiles into two piles before him.

“I think that should be a fair match,” he explains, with a swift wink of the eye 

“No it won’t,” Zuko mutters, and this time his voice is audible to everyone. “We don’t stand a chance against him.”

* * *

It is an hour past sunset and by now, the board is set with several tiles, alternating light and dark, red and white. General Iroh’s face is serenely unperturbed, while across from him, his four opponents have worked themselves into sweaty frustration.

“I think we should use the snapdragon,” Aang says, reaching for a dark tile inked with a dark red five-petaled flower seated on a yellow square. “It’s clashing, and we need to move it before he captures us –“

“But then that opens up that space for him,” Zuko protests, pointing at a neighbouring light tile inscribed with a red flower. “And he has a mum, he can arrange it there –“

“It’s a sacrifice we have to make,” Aang insists. “We can always recoup a harmonization later on, but if we lose our dragon –“

“Just smash him with a rock,” Toph interrupts in a bored voice, her sightless eyes glazed over as she lazily swirls her teacup. “Rocks crush flowers, right?”

“Toph, the way the board’s set up, it would only crush _our_ flowers,” Zuko tells her in a pained voice.

Toph shrugs.

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” She waves a hand in front of her face sardonically. “It was worth a shot.”

“I think you’re forgetting something, Aang,” Katara points out, seemingly unaware of the conversation unfolding around her. Her face is solemn as her eyes rove the board. “If he gets to harmonize with his chrysanthemum next turn, he can use his white lotus.” She points at the benign white tile, sitting in one of the triangular red ports bordering the corners of the playing board.

“So?” Aang asks. “The white lotus can’t move far in a turn. It isn’t near enough to any of us to make a threat.”

“Not if you move our snapdragon to evade his chrysanthemum,” Katara says slowly, pointing at the piece that Aang so desperately wants to move. “Our movements are constrained now because General Iroh’s boxed off these corners of the board, so we _have_ to move where he can reach us with the lotus. And you know what that means.”

She points at the arrangement of the various light and dark tiles on the board, and draws imaginary lines with her finger to connect them together.

“Game over,” Aang realizes, horrified.

“ _How does he do this every time?_ ” Zuko bursts out, exasperated. “ _Always_ with that twice-damned lotus!”

The faintest of smiles is playing across General Iroh’s mouth, but he says nothing in response to Katara’s strategizing.

“He’s been planning this from the beginning,” Katara explains, scanning the board carefully, thoughtfully. “Master Pakku used to play the same way. I always thought he was just going easy on me, but it was just to lure me into a false sense of security. In the end he’d always use the white lotus gambit to win. It’s clever, but there is a way around it.”

“Really?” Aang fixes her with his big grey eyes. “ _How_?”

“You’ll have to trust me for now,” Katara says to him. “Can you do that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Zuko says sharply, glaring at Aang. “Yes, he can.”

The young monk recoils and nods sheepishly.

“Okay.” Katara takes a deep breath, before she places her hand on a dark tile and moves it four spaces over to where General Iroh’s offending piece lies.

“I capture General Iroh’s chrysanthemum here,” she says, “and because of its position, it harmonizes with our snapdragon here.”

“That is correct,” General Iroh says, nodding his head as Katara picks his tile off of the board and sets it aside.

“I’m not finished yet.” She then reaches for a tile sitting on the table. “Because of our harmonization, I’m going to go and,” she triumphantly places it on a triangular port, closest to the light-coloured tiles, “plant an orchid.”

She senses the collective jaws dropping around her.

“Well,” General Iroh muses, his eyes widening as he stares at the board with renewed interest. “Well-played, Sifu Katara.” He strokes at his pointed beard thoughtfully. “Yes, the orchid, with its speed and aggression, is usually quite a good foil to the lotus.”

“So you give up?” Katara asks excitedly.

Iroh lets out a laugh.

“I _never_ give up,” he proclaims defiantly. “Though I might suggest a little break for now.”

“Oh _thank goodness_ ,” Toph sighs. “I thought that was going to go on _forever_.”

“A break? What for?” Zuko queries, a frown crossing his face.

Iroh holds a hand up to silence his nephew, before turning his gaze on Toph.

“Sifu Toph. Is anyone still about outside?” he asks suddenly, his voice changing abruptly.

Toph looks confused by the question, but closes her eyes and focuses for a moment.

“No,” she says at last, “no, everyone’s back in their quarters, freshening up, bolting the doors, changing for bed, that sort of thing.”

Katara gets the sense, just before Iroh begins to speak, that they are about to find out the _real_ reason Iroh has gathered them here, pai sho lesson be damned.

“In that case,” Iroh continues, and his voice is much quieter now, quiet and solemn, “I would raise a subject with you all that I know to be of utmost secrecy. I did not dare speak of it before, not even in front of my good friend Jeong-Jeong.” He sighs, before fixing each of them with his steady amber gaze. “Last week, you intercepted a man sent to assassinate my nephew. I am told that you have preserved his body down by the river.”

Katara feels her blood run cold, but Iroh’s abrupt change of topic doesn’t surprise her as much as his innocuous invitation earlier in the night had. She is only surprised that he hasn’t brought it up sooner. 

“I would like to examine the body,” Iroh finishes, and by now, his face is so forbidding that Katara can hardly reconcile it with the genial, smiling man against whom they’d played pai sho just moments ago. “If you would take me to where it lies and exhume it for me.”

* * *

In no time at all, they have returned to the riverbank, some distance away from the army base. The night is dark, but not one of them dares to light a torch. They rely on the faint sliver of moon in the sky, and Toph’s seismic sense, to guide their way.

Sometimes, Katara doesn’t know how they would manage without the blind earthbender. She confidently leads them quietly, unseen, to the very spot where they had buried the body a little over a week earlier. A sharp twist and pull of her fists and the earth before her opens up, yielding the dead man’s body to the surface.

Katara has had some time to process his death, some time to come to terms with it. This time, when she sets her eyes on Jet’s lifeless body, a great sadness settles over her, but the rage has ebbed.

“By the spirits of Ran and Shaw,” General Iroh murmurs under his breath, bowing his head at the sight of the body. “Let me risk a little more light.”

He kneels down onto the ground, beside Jet’s form, and conjures the smallest orb of fire in his left hand.

“So young,” he laments, and there is a great sadness in his choked voice, “so young to have died in such a troubled way.”

He reaches out to gently touch the dead boy’s forehead, and then over his eyes, before his hand drifts down lower to rest on the hilt of the dagger that still protrudes from his chest.

“This is it, then?” Iroh asks heavily. “This is the blade that killed him?”

Katara feels helpless as it all comes back to her. But Toph and Zuko, who had witnessed it all, nod resolutely.

“It came out of nowhere,” Toph says in a low voice, so serious it barely even sounds like her at all. “So quickly and quietly that we didn’t even _notice_ it until we heard the body fall.”

She shakes her head, her face darkening at the memory of it.

“Toph is right,” Zuko continues with the explanation. “By the time we noticed that he had been killed, whoever it was that threw the knife already had a good head start on us. We pursued him through the building, but he disappeared the minute he got out the front door.” The bitterness in his voice is thinly veiled. “Aang says he saw him, lingering outside my door, in the hallway, dressed as one of our own soldiers.”

“Did you?” Iroh inquires, turning to face Aang.

Aang bobs his head shortly.

“Just for a split second,” he explains. “I saw someone – I didn’t recognize them or make out their face or anything – only that they were wearing a uniform, and then they took off the second some giant commotion happened in Zuko’s room.” He turns a nervous glance in Zuko’s direction. “I assume that was when you discovered the body.”

“But you didn’t _see_ this person throw the knife,” Iroh emphasizes.

“I didn’t see much at all,” Aang confesses, scratching at the back of his head. “It’s possible that I saw him right after he threw the knife. He didn’t stick around very long at all.”

“I don’t think there is any doubt in Uncle’s mind that anyone _else_ threw the knife?” Zuko cuts in, and there is a definite question in his voice as he looks at General Iroh. “It could hardly have been any of us, and it is implausible that anyone else would have been in the area to do it.”

“No,” General Iroh says, and his voice is clouded with darkness, “no, you are probably right. I am just reviewing the facts, in case you may have missed something.”

“What about the Dai Li?” Zuko asks, and Katara glances at him sharply as he presses ahead boldly. “Uncle, have you heard from Long Feng recently?”

General Iroh stops at _that_ , and turns to fix his nephew with a piercing stare.

“What about them?” he asks, taken aback. “They have been stalwart supporters of our family ever since the time of your great-grandfather, Prince Zuko. Why would you name them in connection to this – this most unsavoury incident?”

Zuko falters, trying to think of something to say. He turns his head to look at Katara, a question in his eyes.

Katara sighs, and decides to speak. There is no use in protecting a dead man now. But by speaking, perhaps she can give his life meaning.

“Because just before Jet was murdered,” she says, her voice shaking a little, “he spoke to me.”

General Iroh fixes his full attention on her now. She doesn’t flinch.

“As you are well aware by now,” she continues, “Jet is – _was_ \- an acquaintance of mine, back from my days in New Ozai.”

“The freedom fighter,” General Iroh comments. His tone is flat and his face is unreadable.

“Yes,” Katara nods her head. “Yes, he was involved with the resistance movement there.”

“And you were not,” Iroh points out, his eyebrows raised.

“Only so far as my acquaintance with him went,” Katara explains, fighting to keep her voice calm in spite of the pounding of her heart. “Jet looked out for me. He kept me safe in a terrible place. Whatever he did, I – I can’t forget that.”

The look in Iroh’s eyes is not suspicious, only sad.

“I would accompany him in New Ozai, to a lot of his meetings,” she goes on, unwilling to let herself be interrupted again. “I saw some things that you would probably find unbelievable, especially if you didn’t really see what happened with Jet after he tried to kill Zuko –“

“Please, try me,” General Iroh challenges her. “This is the second instance in the past few months that I have heard of an attack on the royal family being traced back to that resistance in New Ozai. At this moment, I think I am ready to believe _anything._ ”

Katara’s eyes widen, and she is not the only one who appears shocked by the revelation. Toph’s head has snapped to attention, and Aang’s eyebrows have shot up. Only Zuko appears unfazed.

“What do you mean, the _second_ instance?” Toph asks suspiciously. “Are you saying that this has happened before?”

“Let Katara tell her story first,” General Iroh says calmly, “and then I will tell you mine.”

Heart pounding in her chest, Katara swallows to clear her throat before she launches into her story.

She tells him about the strange abductions during her time in New Ozai, the disappearances and reappearances of various freedom fighters, and their troubling links to the Dai Li. She tells him about Lake Laogai, the underwater headquarters of the group, and their ongoing attempts to control insurgents in the area using hypnosis and coded sleeper agents. Finally, she tells him about Jet and his abrupt awakening from his trance following her use of the code phrase.

“He told me that he was the only one of the freedom fighters left,” she finishes, her voice anxious and her stomach churning as she remembers the memories she’d pulled from his mind, sinister, unsettling, alien, “that the Dai Li had gotten to all of them, one by one. He said that they’re _all_ under their control now, sleeper agents waiting to be used for whatever ends Long Feng deems appropriate. Jet was the only one who was troublesome – they kept on having to find him and recapture him and put him under, over and over again. But everyone else –“ _Longshot and Pipsqueak and Smellerbee and the rest, all of them_ , “ – everyone else is gone.”

General Iroh is silent for so long, Katara doesn’t know whether he believes her or not.

“Quite a tale,” he breathes at last. “And he told you _all of this_?”

“A lot of it he told,” Katara replies, her voice growing remote. “Some of it, I saw in his mind. When I was trying to heal him, just before he was killed.”

Iroh’s eyes are wide now, and he is very still as he contemplates her words.

“Uncle,” Zuko speaks up in his hoarse voice, “I know it sounds a little crazy. But Toph and I were there when she broke him out of his trance – there is no other way to explain the change that came over him. We heard him tell his story to Katara. You _have_ to believe her.”

“And _him_ , too,” Toph says firmly, nodding at Jet’s dead body with a tilt of her head. “I can always tell when someone’s lying – or not being entirely truthful. The body has a physically stressful reaction to that, and I could _feel him_ as he was talking to Katara. He was telling the truth.” A pause. “Or, at least he thought he was.”

“I believe you.” General Iroh’s pronouncement is flat and without hesitation as he slowly, smoothly gets back to his feet. “I believe that you are all sincere, and that you regard this tale as a very real possibility to account for this man’s actions.”

“But you don’t believe that the Dai Li is behind this,” Zuko points out bluntly. “You think _that’s_ a whole bunch of nonsense.”

General Iroh shakes his head.

“I would not dismiss this claim as nonsense,” he explains gently. “But you must understand, it is an extraordinary accusation. And while I find it most troubling, I for one, will require more proof before I am able to act on these tidings.”

It was no more than Katara had expected. _Still_ , she thinks to herself, her heart sinking in her chest, _at least he was nice about it_.

“What about the knife?” Aang ventures hesitantly, pointing to the enameled green hilt sticking out of Jet’s chest. “There could be clues based on the craftsmanship, like where it was made or who it belonged to.”

“The guy who killed Jet wouldn’t be _stupid_ enough to use a knife with his _name on it_ , Twinkletoes,” Toph points out witheringly.

“Probably not,” Aang admits, somewhat sheepishly, and yet his face is still alight with some earnestness. “But there could be other information. If it’s an expensive knife, for example, it could suggest that it belonged to a noble or someone wealthy.”

“Or someone who _stole it_ from someone noble or wealthy,” Zuko counters, his voice dark.

Aang shrugs.

“Then you have someone reputable missing an expensive knife, who might have information about the thief. Either way, _some_ information is better than _none_. Right, General?”

“Correct,” Iroh acknowledges. Without a word, he wraps a hand around the hilt of the knife and, with a firm motion, yanks it free.

Katara tries not to stare at the bloody hole gaping in Jet’s chest.

“Hm,” Iroh muses, wiping the blade clean with the remains of Jet’s dark clothing before holding it up close to his face. He squints, bringing the firelight in his palm closer to illuminate the weapon.

“ _Made in Earth Kingdom_ ,” he reads out loud.

Toph lets out a giant snort.

“Well that was helpful,” she remarks dryly, rolling her eyes. “ _Real_ helpful.”

“Actually,” General Iroh interjects, his face alert now, “it was. Look.”

He holds the knife out for them to see.

Katara is able to read the inscription, carved faintly into the base of the blade.

“I don’t get it,” she says, confused.

“Me neither,” Aang agrees, scratching his head. “What are we supposed to be looking at?”

“It says _Earth Kingdom_ ,” Zuko realizes. “According to the trade agreements we made with the Earth Kingdom nearly a century ago, they were no longer permitted to refer to themselves as the Earth _Kingdom_. All of their products would have to be labeled according to the city they were made in. _Made in Ba Sing Se_ , or _Made in Omashu_ , or –“

“Precisely, Prince Zuko,” Iroh says, nodding. “So either we have a rogue weapons manufacturer in the earth colonies violating our trade agreements…or this knife predates Sozin’s conquest of the Earth Kingdom and is a relic of the palace of Ba Sing Se.”

“Is that possible?” Zuko asks skeptically. “What’re the chances of _that_?”

“I cannot say,” Iroh mutters, scanning the length and breadth of the knife with a critical eye. “I am no expert in these matters. However, if our assassin is indeed a member of the Dai Li, headquartered in Ba Sing Se alongside Long Feng…the likelihood of _coincidence_ grows slimmer.” He sighs, before closing his eyes and looking away. “There is much that troubles me about this, and more still that I do not understand. I must think, before I act next.”

“You said that this had happened before,” Toph speaks up sharply. Her posture is combative, and her arms are crossed defensively across her chest. “Sweetness told you her story. We gave you proof of it. Now it’s your turn. You have to tell us _your_ story, Grandpa.”

“ _Grandpa_?” General Iroh echoes, raising an eyebrow.

Aang and Katara let out a sigh.

“It means she likes you, Uncle,” Zuko explains in a deadpan voice. “Ridiculous nicknames are just one way Toph shows her affection for people."

“I see,” Iroh says, and his voice still suggests that he is taken aback by her level of familiarity. He casts it off easily enough as he takes a deep breath. “I do not have to remind you that what I am about to say _cannot_ leave the five of us. It is a matter of national security and, the more I think about it, also a matter of personal safety for Zuko and myself.”

The air is fraught with tension as General Iroh strokes his beard with his right hand, wondering where to begin and how much to tell.

“Four months ago,” he begins, “someone tried to assassinate Fire Emperor Azulon.”

“ _What_?” Katara blurts out, unable to believe her ears.

“You’re _kidding_ ,” Toph exclaims incredulously, quite beside herself.

“I am not _kidding_ ,” Iroh replies wearily, and in the flickering firelight, his lined features make him look older than he is. “The perpetrator used a deadly poison – it was only at the last minute that my father’s life was saved.”

“Is he okay?” Aang ventures to ask, his face full of concern.

Iroh shakes his head sadly.

“He lives, but at great personal cost. He lost the use of body and speech. He can never bend again, never walk, nor talk, nothing.”

“How come we’ve never heard of this before?” Katara demands, her voice shaking. “If Fire Emperor Azulon is in such awful shape, and for some time now, wouldn’t – wouldn’t people know about it? Wouldn’t people freak out about it?”

Katara knows what such incidents mean for peace and stability. _Once a ruler’s grasp on power seems fragile, everything depends on succession._

And Azulon, as far as she knows, has always intended for Iroh to be his heir. But now that he is not in a position to enforce his will –

She shivers.

“Yes, Katara,” Iroh acquiesces, and she can see thoughts of a similar nature reflected in his eyes, “the people would indeed be alarmed if they found out. There would be uproar and uncertainty and rebellion after rebellion, perhaps even a debate over the succession of the throne.” He sighs. “That is why my younger brother has elected to demonstrate a united front between my father, myself, and him, while keeping his condition a secret of national importance. If word were to get out, it would spell disaster for the empire.”

“How did you know that the resistance was behind the assassination attempt?” Aang asks. “Did you manage to catch the poisoner in the act or something, did he confess?”

“I did not arrive on the scene until a week after the events had occurred,” Iroh explains. “By then, the chief healer in the royal palace had been apprehended, on charges that his family was connected to the resistance in New Ozai. The link seemed tenuous to me, at best. But at his trial, he confessed to the crime and was found guilty of attempted regicide. Regrettably, he is – no longer around to plead his case.”

“That makes no sense,” Katara says quietly, and she cannot stop herself from trembling now. “I _knew_ the people in the resistance, General, _all of them_ , and they were just a bunch of _kids_. They could _never_ pull off something with that kind of reach, that level of magnitude. Not without help.”

“You yourself alleged that they have all been turned over to the custody of the Dai Li,” General Iroh returns gently. “Might that not have been the help they needed? If the Dai Li are indeed involved, and if they are engaging in illicit hypnosis programs to enact their agenda, it is not so difficult to envision that this unfortunate healer, through whatever spurious family connection and no fault of his own, wound up caught in something much greater than himself.”

“Katara _did_ say that the Dai Li would use their sleeper agents to perform tasks that they wanted, without regard for the consequences,” Zuko points out. “Why would they bother preserving one agent caught in the act when they have an entire resistance organization, brainwashed and ready to do their bidding, ready to die for them without them even knowing it?”

There is a terrible look on General Iroh’s face now, a mixture of pity and horror and fury all rolled into one. Katara had thought him harmless at first, a benign soul suited to the appreciation of fine arts and tea. But now, for the first time since meeting him, she is able to perceive the iron in him, the fire and steel that would make him a terrifying foe on the battlefield.

“If this is true,” he pronounces in a voice like the thrust of a knife, “if the Dai Li has been engaging in acts of sedition and duplicity against the throne of our empire – that too by unscrupulously gambling with the lives of innocents – then they have made themselves a deadly enemy. I find these allegations disturbing and against the nature of everything this empire stands for, and I will not rest until I get to the bottom of this. If the Dai Li _are_ involved – well – then, the next time they think to send an agent of theirs after someone _else_ in my family, they will not find it so easy.” His amber eyes blaze in the night. “I too have informants within the Earth territories and resources at my disposal. I will do what I can to protect my family, and my country, from these treasonous creatures that pretend to be our _allies_.”

He turns his gaze downward, to stare at Jet’s dead body one last time. His fingers grip the green-hilted knife very tightly, before he tucks it away into the sleeve of his robe.

“Thank you very much for showing me this,” he says softly to the four of them, and he sounds like a completely different man now – older, sadder, quieter. “But this boy has known turmoil for far too long. Let us lay him to rest now. May he find the peace that was taken from him in life.”

Wordlessly, Toph clenches her hands into fists and pulls sharply at the air in front of her.

Once again, Jet’s body disappears back into the earth.

There is a deep silence among the five of them, a silence tinged with sadness for the moments past and apprehension for the moments to come.

“Now,” General Iroh says briskly, breaking the spell with a shake of his head and a falsely-bright smile, “who would like to finish that game of pai sho?”

The four of them groan in unison.

* * *

 **author's notes.** with regards to the game of pai sho as it appears in the chapter: i sort of took the general idea of the game as it was portrayed on the show and cobbled it together with the rules from online pai sho tournaments [yes...there are online pai sho tournaments, according to google. never let it be said that a lack of research stopped this girl from making the story as accurate as possible] in an effort to make the game appear challenging,  _somewhat_ boring [explaining why old people seem to love it so much], and still retaining the real-world strategic relevance that iroh kept stressing. i can't guarantee if this weird end result is exactly what bryke had in mind, but i tried. :/

the next chapter is a direct continuation and will resume more or less where this ends.

love it? hate it? let me know! 


	15. the shape of things to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> general iroh writes a letter. zuko and katara share a cup of tea and a telling conversation. toph has her first nightmare.

**disclaimer.** atla & all its related content is property of bryke, i own nothing familiar.

**author's notes.**  it took a while before i was satisfied with this one. while this chapter is quite a departure from previous instalments (in that it's a bit uneventful and disjointed at times), it ended up including a bit more character revelation than i originally expected. but, all to set up the changes that are coming our way in the next few chapters.

to any bsg fans kicking around out there... yes the chapter is named after [that brilliant piece from the show's soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8zsE5zdlsQ). highly recommend reading with it on (not only because it really evokes that tricky blend of foreboding/apprehension/hope/melancholy that i was trying to strike here, but because it's breathtaking in its own right)

as always, thank you to everyone who's been following along and forthcoming with their feedback! your comments make my day <3

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter xv.** the shape of things to come

* * *

_we advance in tender increments_   
_between the past and future tense_   
_test the weight of both_

“funeral suit”/lisa hannigan 

* * *

In the days to come, Katara will ask herself how it was that she ended up here.

“So, you have elected to use the orchid counteroffensive?” asks General Iroh, his eyes gleaming brightly as he sits back down at his spot at the round table. Another pot of tea has been placed in the fireplace – an herbal infusion of chamomile and mallow, if Katara’s nose correctly identifies the aromas now filling the room in Iroh’s grand pavilion.

“Yes,” she replies, bobbing her head in a short nod. She swallows to clear her dry throat as Iroh rubs his pointed whiskers with a thoughtful hand, staring at the board with focused intent.

It is probably an hour to midnight by now. Toph, ever brash and forthcoming with her intentions, had scoffed off the General’s invitation to continue their earlier game and marched straight back to bed. Aang, mumbling something about writing a letter to an old mentor of his, had also ducked out.

But _Katara_ , feeling ever in Iroh’s debt by now, had found escape a fanciful thought as the keen General turned to her in earnest appeal.

_Katara_ , he’d said to her seriously after both Toph and Aang had slipped away into the darkness, _my dear Sifu Katara. Surely you will come back to finish the game? You have not even had the chance to demonstrate your response to the white lotus gambit!_

General Iroh had stood up for her in front of the entire command staff and showed her mercy when no one else would. Regardless of his motives, she owes him for that.

And, as such, it had been impossible for her to refuse him.

And now here she is, trapped by duty, drinking tea and playing pai sho with the Fire Empire’s Crown Prince and his silent nephew barely half an hour after burying Jet’s body and discussing the possibility of a Dai Li-sponsored insurrection.

_Imagine including that in a note to Sokka_ , she thinks to herself wryly.

The thought of the ensuing look on her brother’s face, were he to ever find out about her current antics, is one of few things that keeps her going.

“For now,” Iroh says at last, breaking her out of her thoughts, “based on the set of the board, I will choose to check your orchid’s movements by using my knotgrass _here_.”

He places a tile inscribed with a tangle of weeds onto a space not far from where Katara’s orchid rests in its port.

She sighs, reaching for another tile in her pile.

_Back to square one we go_.

They play for another quarter of an hour, with Iroh maintaining a more defensive strategy and Katara struggling to recoup territory lost earlier in the game.

Eventually they reach another impasse, this time with Iroh’s lotus threatening to sweep the entire network Katara has painstakingly set up on the board.

“I think,” Iroh’s voice cuts through the tense silence that has descended upon the room, “we could all use some more tea.”

He gets to his feet in a smooth motion and walks over to the fireplace.

“Need help?”

Katara starts as Zuko speaks up. He has been quietly observing the game between the two, to the point where Katara wonders why he is even in the room at all.

“Looks like I could have used that help two turns ago,” she laments, resting her cheek on a hand and gesturing to the board in front of her. “I think I’m a little past that now.”

Zuko’s eyes narrow as he studies the set of the pieces, light and dark, red and white interspersed.

“No you’re not,” he points out, his voice barely audible to her own ears, let alone to his uncle fussing over the teapot on the other side of the room. “You see the trap he’s setting for you and you’re trying to avoid it. He has you caught here and here. But you have another opening _here_ –“ he points at an empty space on the board, “that you can use to free your orchid and capture his lotus.”

Katara raises an eyebrow as she contemplates his suggestion.

“But he has about three pieces in the way,” she points out. “I can’t move there.”

“Then use your wheel,” Zuko suggests. “He’s been so busy boxing you in, he hasn’t been paying attention to his own boundaries. Now you can catch _him_ off guard.”

Katara’s eyes widen as she evaluates the tiles on the board and realizes that he’s right.

“You’re _good_ ,” she breathes, turning her head to face him directly. “That completely slipped my mind.”

Zuko shrugs.

“I’ve been playing against Uncle for a long time. I know his strategy. But I don’t think I would have lasted this long against him on my first try. Even then, he’ll probably come up with some way to outfox us in the end. Don’t expect to win against him, that’s all.”

Katara frowns at the defeat in Zuko’s quiet voice, but she says no more as Iroh returns and pours tea into each of their cups.

She politely nods her thanks.

“I just remembered something,” Iroh says to them, a half-apologetic smile on his lips as he replaces the teapot back in its spot on the mantel. “There is something that I must take care of, straightaway. It is important, and will not take very long.” He bows his head shortly. “Will you excuse me?”

“Um. Sure?” Katara can hardly refuse him, after all.

“Thank you. I will be back quickly enough. In the meantime,” Iroh turns his gaze over to his nephew, “I am counting on you, Prince Zuko, to keep an eye on the board and make sure none of my pieces mysteriously vanish or change spots.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Uncle,” Zuko says flatly. “Katara is an honourable opponent. She wouldn’t cheat to win.”

Iroh grins, before he turns and steps out of the room.

“Why do you do that?” Katara demands before she can stop herself.

“Do what?” Zuko parries, attempting to feign nonchalance.

She sees right through it and squares her shoulders.

“Talk me up,” she says uncertainly, but firmly. “To your uncle, to the others – you’ve been doing it since the day I got here and – _why_?”

_Why do you think so highly of me when I’ve been nothing but awful to you? I don’t understand._

Her fingers twist at each other in remembered guilt.

Zuko shrugs, but doesn’t say a word.

“That’s not an answer,” she points out, her frustration mounting. “You can’t just say _you don’t know_ , there must be a reason you do it –“

“You _wouldn’t_ cheat to win, would you?” Zuko returns, and there is a weary note in his voice as though he would much rather be anywhere else right now.

Katara is caught off guard.

“No,” she admits, “but –“

“Well, there you go,” Zuko concludes, as though his words _prove_ anything, as though what he has said is enough for her.

It’s not.

“Just because I wouldn’t cheat in a board game,” Katara seethes through gritted teeth, “doesn’t mean I wouldn’t if I _had_ to. You don’t know me, you don’t know what I’ve done before - how can you go on vouching for me to others like that?”

Zuko frowns at her.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, and his voice is not incredulous or surprised or hurt even – just resigned.

“ _No_ ,” Katara blurts out, and the resulting confusion that spreads across his face makes her aware of just how much sense she isn’t making. “I just want to know _why_.”

Zuko goes very quiet, and Katara gets the impression that he is thinking very hard, weighing his words carefully in his mind. Strategizing, like coming up with a new pai sho tactic, just how much ground to give, how much territory to keep.

“I don’t have an explanation for you,” he says at length, his gruff voice so quiet that she struggles to hear it. “From the day I met you, I knew that you were strong. Maybe a little too strong. I knew that whatever you had to hide, it wasn’t important compared to all the things you weren’t hiding. I knew that you needed an ally, whether you wanted one or not, whether you were ready for it or not, and I – I can’t explain why I thought I could help you. Why I _should_ help you. It certainly wasn’t for any advantage of my own, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

She shakes her head, her heart pounding in her chest, her blood rushing in her ears.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Zuko finishes, and his voice is rather brusque. “But I can’t explain why I got that impression from you.”

“That’s _not an answer_ ,” Katara repeats in frustration.

Zuko gives her a wry look.

“Uncle Iroh told me that if you’re not getting the answer you’re looking for,” he tells her, not unhelpfully, “then you’re not asking the right question or the right person.”

“Your uncle,” Katara mutters through gritted teeth, crossing her arms across her chest defensively, “is a piece of _work_.”

“That he is,” Zuko agrees, his mouth quirking into that curious half-smile she’s only seen on him once before, “but he is also a useful ally to have on your side.” He pauses, his golden eyes alert and focused on her now. The fleeting curve of the lips vanishes. “I hope you realize that.”

She shivers, feeling the weight of the conversation shift into something a little more serious.

“I do,” she nods quickly. “And I’m really grateful for his help – don’t get me wrong –“

“I know you are,” Zuko cuts her off. “He can be somewhat cryptic sometimes – I understand that better than most – but he means well and he is loyal to a cause when he finds one.” He regards her earnestly. “It might seem like he was skeptical of your story at first, but believe me when I say that if anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s Uncle.”

Katara swallows.

“I believe you,” she says in a very small voice, thinking of the look on the General’s face when he had seen Jet’s dead body. Anyone who could see that expression on his face and _not_ feel the slightest terror was a fool, she concludes.

“And for what it’s worth,” Zuko’s voice has gone very soft again, and when she raises her eyes to look at him, she finds that he is very carefully avoiding her gaze, “I’m sorry. For what happened to your boyfriend.”

A sudden scoff escapes her throat before she can control herself.

_Jet, my boyfriend? As if._

“Thanks for your concern,” she tells him in a steady voice, “but don’t let Toph fool you.” A beat. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

Zuko’s eyes remain fixated on his fingertips as he slowly absorbs her words.

“You really seemed to care about him,” he points out, his voice still carefully neutral.

“I owed him that,” Katara explains patiently. “We never really…I mean, we had a _relationship_ , I suppose, but he was never my _boyfriend_.” The idea of it sits uncomfortably in her mind, like wearing a shoe on the wrong foot. “Does that make any sense at all?”

“Not really,” Zuko admits, but he stops examining his fingers to meet her gaze nonetheless.

“I guess it wouldn’t,” Katara agrees, racking her brain to think of a way to describe it, all while fighting the sweatiness in her palms and beating of her heart at the idea of explaining this to _Prince Zuko_ of all people. “Life was really difficult back then. It’s hard to explain. I…I don’t suppose you could understand even if you tried.”

Her voice ends with a slightly apologetic note.

“No,” Zuko agrees, to her surprise. He doesn’t sound bitter or cynical, though, only disappointed. “I don’t think I could.”

“Yeah, well…” Katara trails off, wondering where this conversation came from, and feeling slightly grateful that it is coming to its awkward end.

But the prince seated across from her keeps stealing furtive glances at her, clearly not content to let the matter lie.

“So…” he ventures again, his voice somehow hesitant and firm at the same time, “you and he…?”

“What’s it to you?” Katara snaps back, feeling a sudden wave of irritation at his ill-timed curiosity course through her.

Zuko recoils a bit, as though she’s slapped him with her words. In a way, she supposes she has.

“I’m just trying to understand,” is all he offers in return.

“Why?” she demands sharply, her eyes boring into him, searching for a hidden motive, an agenda, anything.

“Because,” Zuko struggles to hold her gaze with his own, “because someone _should_.”

His simple honesty takes her by surprise, and to her chagrin, she finds herself unable to stay frustrated with his line of questioning.

After all, he does have a point. And this was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

“Okay,” she sighs in resignation. “But if you _dare_ judge me –“

“I won’t,” Zuko says quickly, his voice relieved. “I promise.”

_She’d_ gone to him. _She_ wanted to repair the bridges, undo the damage she’d wrought. She reminds herself of this, even if the sight of him still sets her on edge, even if her mind stills recoils with every word of his.

“Okay. Well.” She clears her throat, wondering where to begin, _how_ to start, exactly how much to say without revealing too much or too little. “Jet and I weren’t really in a _relationship_ so much as…” she racks her brain, trying to think of an appropriately clinical description, “a series of ongoing transactions?”

“Oh.” From Zuko’s voice, she can tell that he is suppressing his surprise well, though his eyes are somewhat wide and his eyebrows have risen fractionally. “Was there-” he struggles with the words now, clearly uncomfortable, “was there money involved?”

Katara coughs, suddenly understanding the root of his discomfort.

_I guess I walked right into that one_.

“ _No_ ,” she splutters, forcing herself to stay calm and collected, even though inside she feels herself reddening at the unintended suggestion. “No, not _that_ type of transaction. I misspoke. More like…” She forces herself to be a little more clear this time, lest she lead him to _another_ wildly inaccurate conclusion about her past. “He looked out for me, kept me safe and out of trouble, that sort of thing.”

“I see,” Zuko comments. The relief in his voice is somewhat comical, but also somewhat unsettling. “And in return, you…?”

He trails off awkwardly, leaving the air heavy with insinuations.

Katara does not speak to any of them. It’s all she can do to keep her head held high.

“Oh.” Zuko lapses into another contemplative silence.

To his credit, he doesn’t say anything thoughtless once he clues in. She supposes she owes him a small measure of mercy for that.

Because after everything, she is not _ashamed_. Shame was for those who had put her in such a position at such a young age. She had merely done what she had to in order to survive.

_Let Prince Zuko and his kind feel as awkward about it as they want._

“That’s terrible,” Zuko comments frankly, and she fights the urge to send a glare in his direction. “Terrible that you had to make that kind of decision, at such a young age.”

“Fifteen isn’t _that_ young,” Katara counters. “At sixteen you can fight and die in someone else’s war. At sixteen you can get married and start having kids. What difference does a year make?”

“I suppose you have a point,” Zuko acquiesces, his face darkening now. “Back at home, by the time you’re sixteen, you’re ready to hold your first governorship, to prove you’re ready to be a leader and rule. Why, by the time you’re _thirteen_ , you’re old enough to prove your mettle in an _Agni Kai_ , so all things considered, I suppose fifteen _isn’t_ that young at all.”

His voice is suddenly harsh and full of loathing. Katara is stunned at the sudden change in him. She has had his acquaintance for a few months now, she supposes, and in that time, she has seen him weather all sorts of moods. She’s seen him polite, carefully restrained, and well-behaved throughout most of their interactions. Occasionally, she’s seen him bitter, angry, hurt. And once or twice, even more rarely, she thinks she’s seen him _happy_. But this sudden darkness – this abrupt brooding onset of not just mere frustration but _hatred_ – this is something she has never seen.

It disturbs her.

“ _Agni Kai_?” she queries, catching on to the unfamiliar phrase and furrowing her brow. “What’s that?”

She wonders if definitions are the safest course forward, to traverse this new side of him she does not necessarily wish to understand.

Zuko is quiet now and his breathing is very deliberately controlled. She senses a tension in him, a feeling that he is focusing all of his energy to stay in the present moment instead of being swept away by whatever haunts him 

Against her initial judgment, Katara finds herself sympathizing with the young prince. She, after all, is too familiar with that sensation.

“A duel by fire,” Zuko whispers, his voice threatening to break with each word that scrapes over his throat. “Ordained by the spirits of fire that birthed our nation. You invoke _Agni Kai_ as a final form of justice. When all other courses have failed and a verdict must be set. It’s a fight to the death, with your life and honour on the line. Fire is our law, fire is our life, and fire is never wrong. If someone was to lose an _Agni Kai_ –“

He breaks off, unable to speak. But his hand slowly touches the scar on his face, not consciously but as though out of habit.

“They’d die?” Katara guesses, her mind now racing as quickly as her heart.

Zuko closes his eyes.

“Life or death is irrelevant,” he says bitterly, and the emptiness in his voice makes Katara’s hairs stand on end. “By losing an _Agni Kai_ , the fire judges you unworthy. Unworthy of the land, unworthy of honour, unworthy of _life_. But what is life without any of those things? And what does it say about the man who would lose and still beg for mercy? In the end, it’s probably kinder to die fighting.”

His fingers dig into the roughened skin of his scar.

“Is that what you wish happened to you?” Katara asks wide-eyed, staring at him as though for the first time. “Is that how you got _that_?” She nods her head at the disfiguring scar across his right eye, the scar that she’d never thought to question, not once.

_If he got that when he was thirteen… Who in their right mind would challenge someone so young to a fight to the death? What sort of monster would do that to a child?_

In all the time she has known him, she has made countless assumptions about him. That he was just a selfish, spoiled prince made in his father’s image, too lazy or unoriginal to aspire to anything different.

Katara has never felt more ashamed of herself than in this very moment.

“I won't talk about this,” Zuko forces out through clenched teeth, his voice cold.

_Drop it_ , is what he doesn’t say but what she hears nonetheless.

“But –“

“I said _no_ ,” he all but snaps at her now, but the heat in his eyes is not directed at her. “Maybe you think talking would help, but –“

“I never said _that_ ,” Katara tries to reason, attempting a backpedal while she still can, because she’s _way_ out of her depth now and she has no clue how to deal with it. “I have fucked up stuff in my past that I’d rather not talk about too, I get it. I just thought –“

“You thought wrong.”

“Fine. _Fine_.” Katara’s defiant retort is huffy, and she attempts a nonchalant shrug. “I shouldn’t have asked.” A pause, while she weighs her options. “Even though _you_ were the one who brought it all up in the first place. I didn’t have to know.”

She regrets her persistence the second the words come out of her mouth.

“ _Enough_.” His voice is a snarl now, a feral lash against her quiet insistence.

Katara does not flinch, but merely sits still, holding her ground.

“Okay,” she sighs. “But…”

He turns away from her then.

She is reminded of the arctic wolves back home, the way they draw strength from their pack and grow weak when isolated and alone. She remembers how they snap and become desperate when wounded, and in a way, infinitely more dangerous.

“Thirteen years doesn’t make someone a man,” she continues quietly, wondering if her assumptions are correct. He doesn’t look at her now, but the slight stiffening in his shoulders betrays his attentions. “Thirteen years makes someone a little more than a kid, but not by much. Even you. Even me. And when I was thirteen, I was _scared_.” She swallows, trying to keep her voice steady as she remembers it all. “I didn’t care about honour or the law or any of that sort of stuff. I just wanted Sokka and I to live. I didn’t care what it cost. Because dying that young – that’s _never_ a kindness, Zuko.” Her voice grows heavy and against her better efforts, it begins to shake. “I’ve seen too many dead children in my time. Believe me.”

For a while, he says nothing in response. He remains so still that she wonders whether he has even heard her at all. The look in his eyes is distant, and it doesn’t surprise her that his thoughts have carried him very far away.

But when at last he lowers his hand from where it touches the edge of his scar back onto the surface of the wooden game table and returns his attention to her, the look in his eyes is both stricken and alert.

“ _Sokka_?” he echoes in a whisper-soft voice, his face furrowed in curiosity.

Katara feels the bottom drop out from under her stomach.

_Was this how he felt when I asked about the Agni Kai_? For an innocuous conversation over tea and firelight, it seems to her that they have been trading some perilously cutting blows.

But loath as he was to revisit whatever particular hellfire the memory of that _Agni Kai_ had invoked, he had answered her.

Now it is _her_ turn to be honest.

“My brother,” she clarifies.

The strange haunted expression that clouds his face swiftly disappears, to be replaced by astonishment.

“You have a brother?” His eyes are wide again, and he shakes his head gently. “I didn’t know that.”

The abrupt change in him is striking. She has half a mind to believe that their earlier exchange had just been a figment of her overtired imagination.

“You wouldn’t have a reason to,” Katara explains, her voice heavy. “I’ve never mentioned him before, not to anyone here.”

“Not even to Aang?” Zuko asks incredulously.

Katara shakes her head in denial.

Zuko appears struck by this, and she doesn’t understand why. Loads of people had siblings, she reasons, why was it so miraculous to him that she’d once had one too?

“Was he older? Younger?” Zuko continues to pry.

Katara would have found it invasive or annoying by now, but it’s been _so long_ since she’s _talked_ about Sokka to anyone other than the version of him in her mind, and – well…

“Older,” she answers, her throat tightening. “By two years.”

“I see,” he comments abstractly, and there’s a look in his eyes like he is thinking very hard about something. It unsettles her, and yet –

“Were you two close?” he asks abruptly.

Katara looks him over appraisingly. It is not the question she’d expected from him, but all things considered, it is a reasonable one to ask.

“Always,” she breathes, closing her eyes, trying to picture Sokka as she remembers him, trying to imagine what he must look like now. “Especially – especially after it all started. After we lost our mom and dad in the wars, he – he took care of me. He was everything to me.”

It has never struck her that if he was to stand before her today, after only a few short years, she might not even recognize him.

The thought hurts her more than any physical pain.

“What happened to him?” Zuko asks, his voice gentle now. There is something mournful about him, something sad that stirs in his eyes, and yet his voice is perfectly even. “Why isn’t he here with you?”

Katara swallows and turns her head away from his inquiring gaze.

“He ran away,” she says shortly.

“Oh.” Zuko sounds disappointed. She doesn’t blame him. Even after all this time, it still hurts to think about. “And he didn’t take you with him?”

She hears the judgment in his voice, and at once, the hurt in her gives way to defiance.

“He couldn’t,” she counters defensively, because even now after everything he still doesn’t _understand_. “It was a life or death situation for him. They were going to kill him, you see. He had to escape straightaway, break out from under their noses. We barely had time to say goodbye.” She is quiet for a moment, remembering. When she speaks again, her voice is small and remote. “I haven’t seen him since. I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead.”

Either way, she will defend his choices to the bitter end. Even if she never has the chance to make sense of them.

“I’m so sorry,” Zuko says, and to his credit, he _does_ sound genuinely sorrowful. “I – how long ago was this?”

“About three years, give or take.” She shrugs. “It’s hard to keep track of time.”

“All that time and you haven’t gone looking for him yet?” Zuko asks her, in a tone of disbelief. His golden eyes, fixed upon her, are much more perceptive than she’d initially wished to believe.

“I did try,” Katara admits, sitting upright and straight-backed. _Better that he never knows_. _He can’t know_. “But where was I going to go on my own, with no resources? If he’s gone where I think he has, that’s a _long_ way away. Not somewhere a girl travels by herself with no money and no plan. Even if she’s a powerful bender, she has to eat, and sleep, and pay for passage.” She shakes her head again, dismissing the thought. “No, he’s probably shed his real name far behind by now. Even if I could, I wouldn’t even know how to _begin_ to find him.”

The silence that descends upon them immediately afterward is far from comfortable.

“I see,” Zuko manages to say. “That sounds really tough. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Katara shrugs, searching in her brain for something, _anything_ to say, to change the topic from this incredibly uncomfortable yet strangely candid conversation.

_Is there such a thing as over-sharing?_ Her inner voice chides her snidely. _Just because you want to make amends for your previous behavior doesn’t mean you have to tell him every little detail about yourself. Why can’t you be more like Toph and relate to people through sarcasm and humourous nicknames? It’s much safer that way._

Across from her, Zuko is silent as well. She wonders if he too is shaken and, like her, contemplating the merits of defining some future conversational boundaries.

The door opens abruptly and General Iroh marches back into the room, his broad face perfectly at ease.

“I apologize for the wait,” he tells them, bobbing his head shortly in a gesture of courtesy, “that certainly took longer than I initially expected.”

“Is everything okay, Uncle?” Zuko asks tentatively, his eyebrows lowering in confusion.

“Just fine.” Iroh holds up a hand, dismissing his nephew’s aired concern. “Well, the hour is running late and you two should retire to bed soon – after all, we have an early morning ahead of us.”

“But I thought you wanted to finish the game,” Zuko points out. “Wasn’t that the whole point of calling us back here in the first place?”

General Iroh’s eyes brighten inexplicably, and he surveys the board with renewed interest.

“Ah,” he says softly, stroking his beard. “The _wheel_ tile. Sifu Katara, you have been listening to my nephew, have you not?”

Katara nods quickly.

“A bold attempt, that is to be sure,” Iroh comments, leaning over the board and pointing at the new positions of all the tiles involved. “I am intrigued by the aggression in your plays – first with the orchid, then with the wheel. Very bold and precise. I am impressed.”

“So _now_ do you give up?” Katara asked him, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

“Give up?” Iroh shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “But there is so much left to teach you. Alas, that I must cut this lesson short, so I will have to leave you with –“

His fingers move tile after tile, each light tile matching up with a corresponding dark tile, until at last he is able to place his lotus in the heart of the network with a triumphant flourish.

Both Zuko and Katara stare in devastation at General Iroh’s victorious gambit.

“What? _How?_ ” Katara spits out in disbelief, her eyes roving over the board. “You – you were _waiting_ for us to use the wheel! You had that play planned out long before I even _moved_!”

Iroh’s eyes twinkle as he regards her.

“It is somewhat unfair,” he tells her gently. “But part of the art of pai sho is to map dozens of strategies, just in case. It never hurts to be prepared.”

“So it wouldn’t have mattered what I did,” Katara realizes in growing dejection. “I would have lost, no matter what.”

“I did warn you,” Zuko sighs under his breath.

“Only if you continue to labour under the illusion that pai sho is about _winning_ and _losing_ ,” General Iroh says with a quick wink.

_I miss playing Master Pakku_ , Katara fumes irately to herself.

“Isn’t that what all games are about?” she says out loud instead, her irritation evident in her voice.

General Iroh begins to clear the board.

“Perhaps. But as my nephew will undoubtedly assure you, I have always said that _pai sho is not just a game_.” The cryptic quality of his voice gives way as he peers at her face kindly. “You two had better go to sleep now. We have an early morning ahead of us.”

Katara fights the urge to clap a hand against her forehead.

“Thank you for the game, Uncle,” Zuko says to his uncle somberly, respectfully, with a gentle incline of his head. “We learned a lot. Maybe next time we’ll be able to keep you on your toes.”

His uncle smiles.

“As always, you get better and better with each round. I look forward to the day when you defeat me, my nephew.” He bows his head in turn. “Sifu Katara, a pleasure. I hope to continue our matches in the nights to come. I am most curious to see how you develop your skills.”

“Sorry I was such a sore loser,” Katara apologizes shortly, getting to her feet. “Like I said…I don’t enjoy games if I can’t win them.”

“Perhaps you should shift your focus,” Iroh suggests, escorting the two of them to the door. He shrugs and smiles. “I find that discipline and dedication are often far more important stepping stones to mastery, rather than an ongoing tally of _victory_ to _defeat_. The only adversary worth conquering is yourself.”

With those parting words, he ushers them out of the room, bids them goodnight, and closes the door behind them.

“I have no idea what he just said,” Katara complains, rubbing at her temples.

“That’s Uncle Iroh for you,” Zuko sighs. He looks around, taking stock of their surroundings. The three-quarter moon hangs high in the sky, crowned by a patchwork of piercingly bright stars. The night wind whistles through the branches of the trees in the forest, coaxing the brightly coloured leaves from their canopy in the sky to rustle forth and blanket the ground. Around them, the training camp is dark and still and silent.

“We should get back,” he says at once, his eyes turning toward the path back to the officers’ dorms.

“Let’s go then,” Katara says. She takes a step forward before pausing, a frown on her face.

A sudden, slightly uncomfortable realization hits him as he weighs the poorly lit pathway against the uncertainty and tension that appears in Katara’s eyes.

He opens his palm. A single small burst of flame illuminates their immediate surroundings.

“Do you need a light?” he asks carefully. 

Across from him, she nods.

* * *

 

It is late at night as the blind earthbender slumbers beneath the covers.

The room is dark. Before Katara’s arrival a few months ago, the room _stayed_ dark when the sun went down. Toph has no need for candlelight.

She is growing accustomed to the early mornings and as such, tends to sleep when the night is fairly young. Unlike Katara, who tosses and turns on the bunk above her, she is a sound sleeper.

But tonight, her sleep is fitful, her dreams turbulent and uneasy.

In her dreams, she is back at home. She has no idea what home _looks_ like, of course, but there is no doubt in her mind that she is there. The feeling of marble and limestone cold beneath her feet, the sound of the wind rustling through every blade of grass on the well-manicured lawns, the stern, isolating walls fencing off the perimeter of the expansive property…

And the sound of her father’s voice. Her mother’s breathing, slow, controlled, lest she give herself away and shame her husband.

“Where did you _go_ , Toph?” her father demands, and the old helplessness washes over her, encompassing, paralyzing. “How could you leave us for so long?”

“I –“ Toph struggles to answer, to find her voice, but as always at home, she is not only blind, but also mute.

“Do you not _care_ about your parents?” her father presses, his voice taking on a tone that fills her with trepidation. “Does family mean _nothing_ to you?”

_Not nothing_ , Toph wants to speak up. _But you never cared._

“For the love of Bumi,” he continues, “it is a _dangerous_ world out there and I don’t know _why_ you _insist_ on being so _willful_. First with the earthbending classes – you were _lucky_ we even allowed you to have a private tutor, do you _know_ how many girls your age were lining up for the chance at having private lessons and not having to go outside, where it isn’t safe – but _no_ , you _stubborn, insolent_ girl, you decided that _wasn’t enough_ for you, oh no –“

_Here we go._

“ – you _had_ to sneak out, against your mother’s and my _express orders_ – and where do we find you, but at an _illegal_ _earthbending rumble competition?_ With older men and _dangerous thugs_ and _gambles_ taking place everywhere?”

“It _wasn’t illegal_ –“ Toph protests, knowing that he won’t hear her, knowing that her blindness isn’t nearly as bad as his.

“ _How would you know? How do you know what’s good for you and what isn’t?_ ” Her father is shouting now, and she can feel the tiny droplets of spittle flying from his mouth, in his rage.

Just as she remembers.

The heavy brocade dress weighs down on her, and the satin slippers on her feet cloud her ability to sense him. Just as well. She is not sure she _wants_ to remember his face.

“And _then_ –“ her father continues, and he’s lunging toward her, and next thing she knows, his fingers are digging into her shoulders painfully as he shakes her, as though she’s just a doll, just a puppet of some sort, “ – _then we find out that you ran away_. You just _packed up your things and left_ , with nothing more than a _silly_ _note_ to tell us what was going on! _How? How could you leave us?_ ”

_It was easy_ , Toph wants to say, _you made it so easy_.

But her father has never been interested in what she’s had to say.

“Lao,” her mother says in a low, hesitant, somewhat reproachful voice.

Her father whirls his head around to face her mother, where she stands, some ten feet away by the stairs.

“ _Don’t you dare raise your voice to me, Poppy_ ,” he barks at her, and he is absolutely livid now. “We talked about this. Toph is to be confined to her room until further notice. No walks, no visits, no _earthbending_. She has defied us for far long enough – it is time she _learned to obey_.”

_No_.

“Your father is right, Toph,” her mother says with a sigh, tucking her hands into the ends of her wide, bell sleeves. “We went through so much trouble to find you. For _years_ , we waited for our informants to get close to you, wondering if you were alive or dead. You never wrote, you never spared a word for your poor mother or father. Not one.”

“You see, Toph.” Her father’s fingers are bruising purple spots in her shoulders. “We _love_ you. Your mother and I _alone_. I’m sure there’s no shortage of friendly strangers on the street who see a young blind girl and offer their sympathies or – or _advice_. Doubtless someone’s wild ideas got to your head and you forgot. But always remember: you have no use for such things.”

She screams as he begins to pull at her, dragging her away from the doors and windows, away from outside, where the prying eyes of any onlookers might be able to see what she can’t, and is flung back into her room – large, palatial, confining, airless –

A fear that she has only experienced once before all but consumes her, as she slowly gets to her feet and feels the metal against her feet, lining the floors, covering the walls…

Only in here is it truly dark. Only here, under her parents’ watchful gaze, is she truly blind.

“Father, _please_ ,” she forces herself to beg. “ _Don’t do this to me. I don’t belong here._ ”

The door slams shut and the key rasps as it turns in the lock.

“You are a _Beifong_ , Toph,” her father’s voice echoes from the hallway, confusing her wild senses. “You _belong with us_.”

The words are still ringing in her ears as she springs awake, sitting upright in her bunk, the top of her head barely grazing the bottom of Katara’s bunk.

Her heart is beating a thousand miles a minute, there is sweat drenching her hair, her clothes, her sheets, and her body is trembling, shivering violently because she’s cold, she’s so, so _cold_ …

It takes her a few moments before she tries to reach out, before she realizes that she’s not back home in Gaoling, but safe, safe in her quarters at the army camp, somewhere so far away from her parents that they would never be able to send someone her way without her noticing them first.

The fire in the grate is low, and she gets out of bed, padding over to its heat, and picks up the poker hanging on the mantel. She prods at the logs, smouldering in the ashes, before the flames lick at the newly exposed surfaces and rise once again, enveloping her with their heat.

From the sounds of it, it is late into the night. Most of the camp is abed and slumbering quietly. Even the wind is unmoving, the night silent. The night creatures in the forest roam about, minding their own business. She wonders at how she could have had such a nightmare on such a serene night.

It is only as she replaces the poker and crawls back into bed that she realizes that the bunk above hers is empty.

_That’s odd_ , she thinks to herself sleepily. _Where’s Sugar Queen?_

Her question is answered, only moments later, by the vibrations of approaching footsteps from outside the door.

Toph furrows her brow in concentration, focusing on the footsteps outside the door. And voices, quiet, hushed voices, barely above a whisper, conversing quietly in the dark.

“…you really didn’t have to do that,” whispers Katara in a hushed, abashed voice. Her outline is fuzzy in Toph’s mind, but she is able to sense her well enough to perceive the raising of a hand, the anxious tucking of a strand of hair behind her ear, the increasing tension flooding her body and her nonchalant attempts to disguise it from -?

“I know,” mumbles Zuko – _Zuko_? – as he jams his free hand into the pocket of his trousers, the other raised so that the flame in his open palm can light the dark hallway. “But –“

_I wanted to_ , is what he doesn’t say. But Toph hears it nonetheless.

_Sparky with Sugar Queen?!_ Her thoughts are equal parts amazed and incredulous. _What on earth is she doing with him at this hour? I thought she couldn’t stand him._

“Thanks for the help, earlier tonight,” Katara says suddenly, ducking her head down as though by facing the floor, he won’t be able to tell that she’s trying to hide the expression on her face. “Even if we lost. You were really good. You – you surprised me.”

The silence that follows is tinged with tension, as Zuko tries his best to keep it together. Katara will never comprehend the effort it takes him to keep on standing there, still as a stone, but Toph can feel his heartbeat echoing in the hollows of her skull and _by the badgermoles, what is going on here?_

“In pai sho?” he asks cautiously.

Katara is the one racked with tension now.

“That,” she agrees slowly, nodding her head slowly, “and other things too.”

Unlike the previous silence, this one that follows her words is pointed and expectant. Like the look she’s giving him at this very moment.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko mumbles, looking down at the tips of his toes now, “about what I said, earlier. I wasn’t myself.”

“I think that was the most _yourself_ you’ve ever been around me,” Katara counters quietly. “In a way.”

“I was weak,” he sighs, and the hollowness in his voice surprises Toph. “I don’t like being that way.”

“It isn’t weakness to feel afraid,” Katara whispers, her fingers twitching suddenly as though she’s thinking about putting a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. “Or ashamed.”

She crosses her arms across her chest instead. As though she’s cold.

_Sparky probably buys it, too_.

“You should go to bed, Katara,” he says wearily. “Sleep well, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He turns away from her and steps away.

“Thanks,” she says, her voice slightly forlorn and a strange crestfallen look on her face. “And Zuko?”

He freezes in his tracks, but doesn’t turn around to look at her.

She swallows nervously.

“What you said to me earlier,” she continues, her voice shaking a little but still strong and resolute, like the Katara that Toph knows and has come to expect, “I – I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

He turns his head around to look at her then. His heart is racing a mile a minute and he has to swallow twice before the words make it to his throat.

“Neither will I,” he breathes, before turning around and walking away.

Katara stands at the door unmoving for a good minute before she collects herself, shakes her head, and enters the room. Luckily for her, the fire is still high in the grate and, without further ado, she makes for her closet, changes into her nightwear, and quickly climbs into her bunk.

_Well this is interesting,_ Toph thinks to herself, a grin crossing her face despite herself. _Sugar Queen and Sparky. Who’d have thought?_  

By the time Toph falls asleep again, Katara is still lying awake, lost in her thoughts.

* * *

The messenger hawk flies swiftly into the night.

Tied to its satchel is a long thin package, wrapped in cloth and secured with twine. Alongside it is a scroll of parchment, sealed in blue wax.

Pressed into the wax is an emblem of a circle inscribed with a lotus.

_My dear Jun_ , reads the sealed message.

_How are you? It has been some time since I last wrote. My most sincere apologies. Life has a way of catching up with us all, and making an old man out of me. Recent events being what they are, I regret the brevity of this message and wish I had the time to see you in person._

_I came by what appears to be an Earth Kingdom artifact of sorts. It appears to be of great value and misplaced. If you could examine this for me and discreetly inquire as to its origins, I would greatly appreciate it. It is a story of great curiosity of how it came to my possession. I only hope one day I can recant the tale to you in person._

_Of course, I do not have to tell you that I take a great risk in sending you this at all. Nonetheless, it would please me greatly if, in your inquiries, you kept my name out of this. I wish I did not have to drag you into this mess, but I can think of no one else with your specific knowledge, resourcefulness, and curiously unorthodox sense of loyalty._

_I, and my family, remain forever in your debt._

_Fondly,_

_Grand Lotus Iroh_

The hawk lets out a screeching call.

Its powerful wings flex and beat against the nighttime air, striking a course for the former Earth Kingdom.

* * *

**author's notes**. and so the plot thickens...

next chapter sees a return to team avatar and more avatarbuilding! holler if you're ready for it!


	16. falling so slow (pt. i: adrift)

**disclaimer.** atla  & all its associated content belong to bryke, i own nothing you recognize and do not profit off the writing of this.

**author's notes.** well. it's been a while. apologies for that, folks. the forthcoming chapter was a bit of a struggle to write, especially because of the sheer volume of content that i still had to write. i realized that i was being especially ambitious in trying to cram it all into one chapter, and as a result the pacing suffered. so, because of that, i've decided to split what i'd initially planned for this one mega-chapter into multiple parts. right now, this is the first of four or five such instalments but i can see it taking longer, depending on how the writing process goes.

on a slightly unrelated but personally relevant note, i'd like to acknowledge that the song choice for this chapter is in dedication to the late, great  _Sense8_ , which was a significant influence for this fic (particularly with the development of the four-headed avatar and opportunities for character connection and empathy it provides). too many visionary and truly creative shows are axed before their time. i'd recommend everyone go watch it if you haven't already; if you've made it to this point in my story, you would probably fall in love with it.

i should probably also put some warnings up for the content of this chapter, specifically for adult content and abuse. there are some parts near the end that were difficult to write and intense, so if the subject matter is triggering, you've been warned in advance.

thank you very much to everyone who's been following and leaving feedback, it means the world to me.

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter vxi.** falling so slow _(pt. i: adrift)_

* * *

_and you might pray to god or say it’s destiny_   
_but i think we’re just hiding all that we can be_

“wise enough” / lamb 

* * *

The very next morning, in a cramped apartment facing a dilapidated storefront on the lowest ring of Ba Sing Se, the bounty hunter smirks as she scrawls her reply.

_I’m on it, Grandpa._

_Wait for my next report._

After the messenger hawk has flown out the window, she unrolls the enameled green knife from its careful wrapping and tests its weight experimentally in her hand.

“Shiny,” Jun remarks wryly. She spins the blade in the palm of her hand, admiring the balance and the way it gleamed in the faint light of her apartment.

_So Grandpa Grand Lotus wants to know where this piece came from? I’ll bet there’s a story or two there._

_Still, no time like the present._

After all, if there’s one thing Jun is _really_ good at, it’s tracking things down.

She whistles sharply.

The thundering of approaching footfalls echoes around her as she finishes tying her hair back.

“Good boy,” Jun says affectionately, patting the blind shirshu as it trots up to her obediently. “We have a mission, Nyla. Isn’t that exciting?”

Nyla whines and scratches at the floor, his nostrils flaring.

She sighs and pulls at a strip of possum-chicken jerky from a box on the counter.

The shirshu catches the scent and sits up at once.

“That got your attention quick enough,” she mutters, shaking her head as she tosses the dried meat at the shirshu. Nyla leaps up and catches it with his mouth, chomping away in satisfaction.

“Enough of that, now.” Jun reaches a hand out and pats the slavering beast on its head. “We have work to do, now. You’ll get more when we’re done.”

She holds the knife to Nyla’s nostrils.

The shirshu inhales the scent and lets out a growl. 

* * *

“You know,” she whispers to him across the still darkness of the night, broken only by the dancing flickers of the orange-gold glow in his open palm, “you really didn’t have to do that.”

He isn’t looking at her now. He doesn’t need to look at her to sense her discomfort.

“I know,” he replies, his voice barely louder than hers, hesitant in the silence of the night. His mouth is dry and his heart is pounding out a tense, strangling pattern somewhere in the cavernous wilderness between his stomach and his throat. “But –“

He jams a hand into the pocket of his trousers to distract himself from it, from the admission on his lips, from the cowardly voice of his mind that’s urging him to forget it and _run_ , away from her and back to his room where it’s safe.

“I wanted to,” he says instead, and a strange sensation washes over him, a sense of things feeling not quite right, of reality subtly altered and, at the same time, things never feeling _more_ right than in this one strangely surreal moment.

He chances a glance at her as she ducks her head down, intensely scrutinizing the tips of her toes, hiding the dark flush erupting on her cheeks.

“I figured,” she mutters, and her voice is so quiet, he has to take a step forward, a step closer, to hear her properly. When she looks up, there’s something in her eyes, something different – maybe bravery or hope or just plain defiance – that makes him want to look away.

He doesn’t.

“But why?” she asks. Her posture shifts with a straightening of her spine and she crosses her arms across her chest, almost as though she’s cold.

Almost.

_Turn around, Zuko_ , warns the voice in his head that sounds like his father, a hissing, sibilant voice empty of warmth or feeling or conscience. _Turn around and walk away, while you can still put this behind you._

He takes another step forward, closing the distance between them to a span of meager inches, a deliberate, defiant movement that somehow strikes him as uncertain and purposeful in the same breath.

Her eyes rove his face with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. She’s holding her breath, he realizes, and so is he.

“You know why,” he tells her, reaching for her with his free hand and cupping her chin with it. He can’t fight the urgency that enters his voice as he continues, “you _have_ to.”

She doesn’t shrink from him or his touch. She only lets out a slow, shuddering breath. He can feel her trembling beneath his fingers, and the sensation is surreal.

“You’re right,” she murmurs quietly, and the look in her eyes as she looks up and meets his haunts him. “I do.”

When she finally snaps out of her daze and reaches for him, it feels like a dream. Her hands clutch at the clasps of his tunic and pull him in close, so that he’s flush against the firm curves of her body, so that he can feel the pounding of her heart against his own.

By now, the flame in his palm has been extinguished, his mind too distracted to keep the fire burning. The hallway plunges back into total darkness, save for the slight slivers of faint moonlight crisscrossing around them.

Her kiss is hungry, her mouth moving against his even with a firmness and aggression that takes him aback, even as his hands explore the planes of her insistently. Her fingers trail a path along the line of his shoulders, his neck, the line of his jaw, before tangling into the shock of his hair. He groans as she backs into the solid wooden door behind her, pulling him closer against her.

It feels surreal.

“Wait,” he pants, even as she wraps her legs around his waist and his fingers dig into her thighs reflexively, “wait…”

“I don’t want to wait,” she growls into his ear, rocking slowly and sinuously against the telltale length growing in his trousers. “Do _you_ want to wait?”

Her hand closes around him and he fights the sudden hiss that escapes through his clenched teeth.

“You don’t _feel_ like you want to wait,” she whispers with a smirk, running her hand up and down the length of him. “You feel like you _want_ this.”

He throws his head back at the sensation of her hand _there_ , stroking a fire in him that’s ready to lose control at any moment.

It feels too good to be true.

She licks the outer lobe of his ear and his inner restraints are quelled momentarily.

“Like you want _me_.”

She grinds against him again, setting up a faster, more urgent rhythm.

“Like you want to be _in me_ ,” she gasps through a moan of her own. “ _Right here_.”

As though to drive the point home, she takes one of his hands and plunges it into the waistband of her leggings, under the seam of her underwear, into the intense heat and slippery moisture gathering between her legs.

The fire in his loins gives way to an ache at the discovery, and he fights a strangled whimper as he greedily runs his hand against her there, against the proof of her desire.

“This doesn’t feel like you,” he mumbles against the velvet skin of her neck, his lips pressed against the taut skin between shoulder and earlobe, as she stretches against him and sighs. “This doesn’t even feel _real_.”

It feels like a dream.

“You’re right,” Katara agrees, cupping his face with both of her hands, so that he can see her and her flushed face and her kiss-swollen lips clearly, “it _isn’t_.”

Zuko’s eyes open frantically in the early morning light. He is in his room, in his bed, decidedly _alone_. His sheets and covers are a tangled mess and under them, his cock is painfully hard.

He closes his eyes, letting out a winded, long exhale through his teeth as it comes back to him. The dream, how _real_ it had felt, and _Katara_ …

His cock twitches at the memory of her, not the version of her that he knows, but the strange dreamlike seductress version of her that his dream had conjured, for whatever reason only Agni really knew.

_Don’t put it all on Agni_ , his mind chides him. _As though you had nothing to do with it. As though you can pretend you’re not disappointed. That you didn’t want it to be real._

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zuko sighs, clapping a hand to his aching forehead, as though to block out the thoughts swirling in his mind.

But the reality that faces him is incredibly impractical.

Outside of the warped dreamscape of his nighttime fantasies, Katara can barely stomach him. She still fights the urge to run from him, the instinct that warns her that he’s the enemy. Last night, even if they’d come to an uncomfortable understanding, she would probably shy away from him again, the way she always did. Then after a while, they would arrive at an uneasy truce, before something else would rock the boat and they would go back to opposite corners of the ring, in a never-ending cycle of antagonism and reluctant tolerance.

In the face of that stark reality, what he _wants_ doesn’t seem to matter.

So, instead, he surrenders what little control he can afford, with what little time he has left to himself for the time being.

And with only a tiny pang of shame, he closes his eyes, wraps a hand around his erect cock, and thinks of her. 

* * *

“So,” Toph says breezily, tying a dark green belt across her waist, holding her cotton tunic in place. “You were up late last night, huh?”

Katara groans as she glances at her reflection in the small polished mirror hanging by the door to the privy. Small lines and puffy bags have appeared under the waterbender’s bright blue eyes, and she prods at them in dismay.

“Pai sho game took _that_ long?” Toph inquires innocently, fixing the headband holding her dark hair in place. There’s something in her voice that sounds amused and inexplicably satisfied. “Man, aren’t I glad I came back early!”

Katara shrugs, pinning a beaded strand of hair into the rest of her braid.

“It wasn’t _that_ long,” she insists, unsure of why Toph’s nonchalant tone of voice has her on her guard.

“Sure, sure,” Toph remarks cheerfully, straightening the guards around her wrists and forearms, before she marches right up to where Katara is fussing over herself by the mirror. “So what kept you and Sparky so long then?”

Katara freezes. She chances a glance at Toph’s face, smug and cheerful and wearing a small smirk, reflected in the glass before her.

“N – nothing,” she stammers, taken aback. Her hands fidget in front of her of their own accord.

“Didn’t _sound_ like nothing,” Toph sings and her smirk has broadened into a grin that Katara can only describe as _slightly evil_. “What’s going on between you two?”

Katara’s mouth _drops_ and she gapes at the blind earthbender ineffectually, twin spots of red rising to her cheeks.

“ _Nothing_ ,” she insists again, jamming her hands on her hips and turning to face the earthbender where she stands, unperturbed by the rising tension in the room.

“Are you _sure_?” Toph presses, now picking at the undersides of her nails.

“ _Sure I’m sure_ ,” Katara declares firmly, marching right up to the insolent little earthbender, her face bright red by now. “I just needed a light to see the way back to my room and he offered me one. _That’s all_.”

Toph stops picking at her nails and faces Katara.

“Okay! If you say so!” she exclaims, her voice a shade too bright for Katara’s liking.

Katara opens her mouth to protest further, but Toph grabs at the cuff of her sleeve again.

“Now come on, before we get late for breakfast!”

Without a further word, the blind earthbender has all but dragged her out of the room. 

* * *

“You look tired,” Aang remarks to Zuko, as they retrieve their breakfasts from the canteen and make their way through the mess hall. “Late night?”

“You could say that,” Zuko mumbles, balancing a cup of black tea on his tray, watching the dark liquid lap at the rim of his cup perilously.

“Did you guys play for much longer after we left?” Aang inquires, his eyes round. “I’d have thought General Iroh would have cleaned you out in under a minute! No offense.”

“None taken,” Zuko admits, his eyes alighting on a table in the corner where Toph and Katara sit with Suki and Ty Lee. “In the end, that’s basically what happened. But he let us think we were winning for a while before that.”

“That’s nice of him,” Aang says with a smile, before he also notices the table with his friends. “There they are! Anyway, maybe I’ll join you guys next time. I got a really disturbing letter from one of my old teachers. _Man_ , things back home are looking a little _weird_.”

Zuko frowns, but slows his paces as Aang nears the table.

“How do you mean?”

Aang shrugs, the nonchalant gesture not really doing much to hide the uncertainty in his eyes.

“Hard to explain when you’re not a monk,” he says promptly, a wry look crossing his face. “Just…some people back at the temples are saying some things that Gyatso found disturbing.”

“That’s it?” Zuko raises an eyebrow.

Aang shrugs again.

“Like I said, it’s hard to explain if you’re not a monk,” he repeats, somewhat apologetically. He turns his attention to the table ahead of them, and waves at Ty Lee and Suki, who by now have spotted them. “Hey guys! How’s it going?”

“Well, look at what the cat-owl dragged in,” Ty Lee teases, resting her chin on her hand. “Good morning, you two!”

“Morning!” Aang greets them, nodding his head at the four girls.

Toph nods sightlessly at him, while Katara flashes him a quick smile.

Zuko takes an inadvertent step backward, pointedly avoiding eye contact with everyone at the table.

“Sit down, you two,” Suki instructs, moving over on the bench to make space. “I’m killing my neck trying to look at you guys standing over us like that.”

“That’s okay,” Zuko hears himself blurt out, taking another step away from the table as Aang sits down at the edge of the bench where Suki and Ty Lee are seated. He feels five pairs of eyes descend upon him curiously, but deliberately meets none of them. “It doesn’t look like there’s much space left anyway…”

“Nonsense,” Suki counters, scanning the bench across from her. “Toph, Katara, move over. There’s plenty of room for him on your side.”

“Yeah, Sparky,” Toph echoes in a voice that is almost defiant. To his surprise and utter dismay, she scoots away from where she sits next to Katara, sliding toward the opposite end of the bench. “Plenty of room right here.”

She pats the empty space on the bench, right in between herself and Katara, smiling innocently.

_So much for a low profile_ , he curses inwardly.

“Uh…” Zuko falters, unsure of how to proceed without giving offense.

“What’s the matter?” Toph pries, her guileless smile turning ever so slightly into a small smirk. “Are we not good enough for you or something?” She turns her head in Katara’s direction, where the waterbender sits calmly sipping on her tea. “Or are things still awkward between you and Sugar Queen here?”

Zuko feels the blood drain from his face as Katara, without a change in her expression, puts down her cup and sighs.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Toph,” she says primly, before turning her bright blue eyes over to meet his. She gives him a small smile, and he fights the urge to drop his tray. “Of course it’s not awkward. Right Zuko?”

“Uh,” he stammers, his mouth dry and heart pounding, “right, of course not. Why would things be awkward?”

And feeling trapped like a small animal in a cage, he resignedly seats himself in the spot Toph’s made for him.

His elbow bumps into hers as she reaches for her cup again, and he fights the apology that springs to his lips, as well as the shivers that course up his spine like electricity from the spot where her skin touches his.

_Just be normal_ , he tells himself irately, fighting the wave of heat that rushes to his face. _You haven’t done anything wrong, and no one will ever know if you act like a fucking normal person._

“I don’t know,” Toph drawls, scraping her spoon against the bottom of her bowl. “I thought you two couldn’t stand each other. So what gives now?”

Katara closes her eyes as she takes another serene sip of tea.

“Well,” she says patiently. “I decided that I needed to make things right, and offered Zuko a truce. We’re trying to be friends now.”

“What?” Aang blurts out, his eyes wide and traveling from her to Zuko and back again. “ _Really_?”

“I’m so confused right now,” Suki mutters to Ty Lee in a deadpan voice.

“Me too,” Ty Lee admits, looking slightly perplexed. “Katara doesn’t hate Zuko anymore?”

“ _I_ think it’s fantastic!” Aang cuts her off, positively beaming at the two of them. Zuko stifles the urge to sink into the ground. “Katara, I’m – _so proud_ of you! And Zuko – how do you _feel_? I mean, now that you’re not at each other’s throats all the time?”

“Uh…” Zuko struggles to appear somewhat articulate, taken aback at the response from everyone. Truth be told, he’d been hoping for everyone to mind their own business. Instead, he has a spotlight focused on him and Katara, all while he fights the twin instincts of clinging to and forgetting his dream from last night. He has never resented the others as much as he does in this moment. “Good, I guess?”

Toph’s face breaks into an uncomfortably satisfied smile, and with a belated sense of dread, Zuko remembers that she can tell when people are lying.

She doesn’t call him out in front of everyone, though, and for that he supposes he owes her one. But there’s a look on her face that reads, _we’re talking later, Sparky_.

He shoves a bite of his breakfast in his mouth so that he doesn’t have to acknowledge.

_I’m doomed_ , his inner voice declares in despair.

“Leave him alone,” Katara says dismissively, rolling her eyes as she continues sitting there calmly next to him, sipping tea the way his uncle would. “He didn’t even do anything, it was all _my_ fault. But I’ve resolved to make things right, and I’d appreciate it if you guys _didn’t_ make things more awkward than they need to be. Alright?”

The brisk sensibility in her voice only makes him feel even more ashamed of himself. It only reminds him of how far out of his reach she really is, even though she sits only inches away from him.

Something inside him plummets.

Ty Lee lets out a low whistle

“Just when you think you know someone!” she remarks.

“Tell me about it,” Suki remarks with a smirk. “Is this because we stopped training with you guys? Because I’m telling you, it’s not our fault. Ever since General Iroh arrived on site, you guys have been awfully secretive.”

“Yeah, we barely see you guys anymore!” Ty Lee complains. “What gives? I didn’t even _know_ about you and Mai until she told me last night, Zuko! Way to be a stranger.”

Zuko chokes.

_Oh right. That_.

In the heat of things, he hasn’t even given Mai a second thought.

_That wasn’t noble of you_ , he thinks to himself acerbically.

“Wait, what happened with you and Mai?” Suki interjects, confused. “And why haven’t I heard about it?”

He coughs once, twice, trying to clear his throat.

“We broke up,” he says shortly, trying to fight the shrug that accompanies his statement.

“ _What_?” Suki blurts out, in complete disbelief. “You guys – _when_? _How_? _Why_?”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Ty Lee exclaims. “It was so out of the blue! I thought you two were so cute together!”

Next to him, Katara has frozen for a moment, just a split second so brief he thinks he might have imagined it.

Then, she continues sipping her tea, a little too slowly, a little too calmly. Her entire body is too relaxed, he thinks despite himself, like she’s putting on a show that is a little _too_ convincing.

He doesn’t understand how such a subtle non-reaction can fill him with equal parts disappointment and hopeful terror.

“I didn’t,” Aang admits quietly, his eyes sad. “I’m not surprised at all.”

“ _That’s because you’re a monk_ ,” Ty Lee cuts across him, “what do _you_ know about dating anyway? Aren’t you all celibate?”

“ _Can it,_ Circus Freak,” Toph speaks up abruptly, her voice a rock-hard command. She directs a ferocious scowl at the earnest girl in pink, who claps a hand across her mouth. “I get that you’re very concerned for the fate of Sparky’s sex life now, but there’s no need to take it out on Twinkletoes here. It’s nobody’s business but his if he’s a virgin.”

“ _Can we leave my sex life out of this?_ ” Zuko bursts out through gritted teeth, feeling his entire face turn red with embarrassment and irritation.

Across the table from him, Aang has flushed an impressive shade of purple.

“And Aang’s too, while we’re at it?” he continues, feeling a pang of secondhand embarrassment for the young monk. It lends strength to his voice as he continues in exasperation. “ _This_ is why I didn’t tell anyone! Yes, Mai and I broke up, and that’s our business, and not some piece of celebrity gossip for you crazy girls to trivialize and discuss. This is _my life_. And _Mai’s_. For the love of Agni, would it kill you to show a _little_ tact?”

His outburst complete, he falls silent with a heavy breath or two. His furious glare scans all of them, from Ty Lee to Suki to Toph, where she sits peerlessly next to him.

He doesn’t dare look at Katara, but he feels the long exhale that she releases beside him.

“How are things back home, Aang?” the waterbender asks lightly, very obviously and defiantly changing the subject. She places her cup on the table in front of her, steeples her fingers together, and fixes a friendly, non-judgmental glance at Aang across the table. “You were writing to your old teacher last night, right?”

The look of relief on Aang’s face _should_ have filled the rest of them with shame, Zuko thinks to himself furiously.

“Yeah,” the young monk replies, a little too quickly, his voice a little too bright. “Yeah, they’re okay. Gyatso’s alright too, but…”

Aang prattles on, and Katara doesn’t let her attention falter for a second. Her face is held in a tight, little smile, and her knuckles are white.

She doesn’t look at him.

As though in punishment, his mind keeps traveling back to his dream, the one he wants to forget, but doesn’t want to forget.

_You could still try_ , an unusually optimistic part of him suggests. _Try for her. What could possibly go wrong_?

“What do you mean, it’s hard to explain if we’re not monks?” Katara demands, her voice taking on an edge that is a little bit dangerous. “Then _help us understand_. We’d all love to learn more! Right, Ty Lee?”

The smile she tosses in Ty Lee’s direction stings worse than a slap to the girl’s face.

“Everything,” Zuko mutters to himself, gulping a mouthful of his own tea.

_I don’t stand a chance. I never have._

The despair settles over him like a shroud throughout the remainder of breakfast. When at last, it is time for everyone to disperse back to their rooms and prepare for the rest of their day, he breathes a sigh of relief.

He parts from the rest of them silently, hoping no one notices that he has given them the slip. Turning the corner and out of sight, he pauses in his tracks and lets out a sigh.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus. But the only thoughts that calm him, that give him any sort of solace at all, are of her. The texture of her skin. The taste of her lips. The rhythm of her body pressing into his, the strength and heat and sureness of it…

He reminds himself that it wasn’t real. That it was only a dream, albeit a _really realistic one._

And a good one too.

_I can’t do this_. The thought strikes at his core, unbidden, blunt, powerful. _I can’t keep doing this_. _I’m going crazy._

Soft footsteps approach from behind him. 

“For what it’s worth,” Katara’s voice says quietly, firmly, and his eyes widen and he spins around to see her standing behind him, arms crossed and face still carefully neutral, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out between you two. And that everyone else made a joke about it. That wasn’t funny.”

His fevered thoughts scatter to the wind. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly. His voice feels like it’s stopped working.

_And just like that_ , he observes blankly, _it was all worth it._

Elation swells within him, against his better instincts.

“Thanks,” he manages to say. “But Aang was right. Mai and I – we weren’t good for each other.”

He sees her frown a little at that. He waits for her to offer the usual platitudes. _If you need somebody to talk to_ , or _you’ll find the right person for you_ , or maybe even _I’m single too, let’s get to know each other_ –

“You don’t have to explain,” she tells him instead, holding up a hand. She still has that strange, closed expression on her face, but he can see the wheels turning in her eyes. “Like you said – that’s _your_ business.”

_Oh._

The swelling balloon of hope within him bursts.

“Right,” he stammers, his mouth dry.

“Right,” she echoes, raising a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

He wonders if she feels as awkward around him as he does around her. Part of him irrationally hopes that she does.

But then she gives him a small smile, one that reaches her eyes this time, before she turns and walks away.

His heart flutters and snaps, and the swelling thing in his chest that had burst at her dismissal, just mere moments earlier, begins to rear its ever-persistent head yet _again_.

And –

_Maybe_ , he thinks irrationally, _maybe I can keep doing this after all._

* * *

Katara takes up her usual spot on the stool beside Chan’s bed in the healing tent.

“You look happy,” Jia observes as she deposits a bucket of freshly drawn water beside the young waterbender. “Anything the matter?”

Katara glances up at the grizzled old woman, momentarily taken aback.

“Not really,” she replies, raising her hands and drawing a sizeable volume of water from the bucket with which to glove her hands. She flashes a quick smile at Jia nonetheless. “Just a good day.”

“I see,” Jia replies, glancing at the bright sunshine streaming in through the window. “I was surprised to see you in this early in the morning. Don’t you usually have training with the General at this hour?”

Katara nods.

“I do, you’re right,” she acquiesces. Her brow furrows in some confusion. “But I bumped into him on my way to practice, and he said that he was cancelling this morning’s training. Just out of the blue. Said that he wanted some one-on-one time with Prince Zuko. So, I told the others and then thought I’d come here and spend a bit more time healing Chan.”

“I see,” Jia remarks with a short nod. “That was generous of you. I’m sure you would have enjoyed taking a little more time to yourself.”

Katara shrugs, placing her hands just above Chan’s bandaged face.

“A promise is a promise,” she says, “and I made so much progress with him yesterday. I think I might make a breakthrough today.” She smiles at the old healer.

Jia’s eyes widen.

“Well, it’s good to see you optimistic for a change.” She shuffles out of the room.

Katara is still amazed that the old woman allows her to be alone in the room with Chan, unsupervised and with a bucket full of _water_. Truth be told, she’d been expecting to be treated with infinitely greater suspicion for a longer time before regaining everyone else’s trust. But, to her surprise, everyone around her has gone back to treating her with dignity and respect.

She can’t help but be grateful for that.

So she focuses her attention on reattaching the last bits of broken bone around Chan’s nose and jaw, drawing away the inflammation, and at long last, rebuilding the ruined airways of his throat and upper chest.

She tilts her head back, rolling her shoulders and flexing her fingers in preparation.

_Time to do this._

And with a single decisive tugging motion, she gathers all the liquid collecting inside the cave of his chest – all the water and blood and pus and excess humours, _all of it_ – and pulls it slowly out of his newly reconstructed airways. The flow of liquid rushes through his windpipe and throat, until it emerges from his mouth and nostrils.

When she’s sure she’s got every last drop, she forms the waste liquid into an even sphere and floats it out the window. It splashes to the ground outside.

Almost immediately, Chan’s breathing strengthens. She can feel the warmth of his breath against the back of her hand. His eyelids stir and flutter. His chest begins to rise and fall, ever so slightly, of its own accord.

Katara wipes at her brow with the dry skin of her forearm, a disbelieving laugh escaping her.

_I can’t believe it. I did it._

Her work is far from over. His chest is still a mess and she still has to rebuild his lungs and strengthen the lining of his chest cavity. But the water is gone and with it, the risk of imminent infection and death.

Now he has a chance and so does she. 

* * *

Zuko wanders into the enclosure behind the campsite in somewhat of a daze. His Uncle is the only one there. He is dressed in light breathable cotton, sensible for the heat of the midday sun above them. The air is unusually warm for the time of year.

Uncle Iroh frowns. A ferocious messenger hawk is perched on his shoulder and his eyes are trained on a piece of parchment paper in his hand, sealed with white wax.

“ _Grandpa_ , she says,” Zuko hears him grumble under his breath, as he folds the letter up and tucks it away into the sleeve of his robe. “I’m not a grandfather yet, why does everyone keeping calling me that?”

“Everything okay, Uncle?” Zuko asks gently, glancing at the place where Iroh had stowed his letter.

Uncle Iroh brightens as he notices his nephew.

“Prince Zuko! Yes, yes, everything is in order. Please, make yourself comfortable. We are going to try something new today.”

Zuko doesn’t move.

“What was that all about?” he asks, nodding his head at the bird on Iroh’s shoulder.

Iroh pats the hawk on its back, and the bird gives a feral screech before taking flight and winging back toward the camp.

“That,” Iroh replies cryptically, “was the first stage of my investigation into the matters we discussed last night.”

“Already?” Zuko frowns. _That was fast_.

Iroh bows his head.

“I told you and Sifu Katara last night that I had an urgent letter to write. It appears I wrote it not a moment too soon. My informant is looking into the matter for us, and she is well-placed and highly suited for the task ahead. I trust that she will get back to me soon.” His face, unusually austere, breaks into a smile. “In the meantime, let us not forget about your training! We have something important ahead of us today!”

Zuko shrugs off his tunic, preferring to train in his comfortable, loose-fitting trousers. He looks around expectantly.

“Where is everyone else?” he asks, tilting his head questioningly. “It’s just us.”

“Yes,” Iroh acquiesces. “I thought it would be better to cover this first lesson one-on-one, firebender to firebender. I didn’t want to bore Sifu Toph, Aang, or Katara with this.”

“Oh.” Zuko cannot help the slight slump in his shoulders. “Okay.”

After all these months of sparring with the others, training one-on-one with his uncle seems perfunctory and unexciting. And it _shouldn’t_. His Uncle is a phenomenal instructor, who could probably teach the art of firebending to a sky bison if he had to. He hasn’t trained one-on-one with him in what feels like _years_. He should be _honoured_.

And so he straightens his back and pushes the slight well of disappointment back into the pit of his stomach where it belongs.

“What are we doing today, Uncle?” he asks politely.

Uncle Iroh grins.

“Nothing as exciting as training with your friends, unfortunately, but maybe something that can match up in some small measure,” he says with a short wink. “Assume your starting stance.”

Zuko obliges, assuming a wide but rooted stance, his muscles flexed, his joints loose, his weight light on his feet.

“Today, I will take you through the basics of lightning generation,” his uncle announces with a hint of pride. “Like I promised.”

Zuko’s mouth drops.

“Really?” he asks, unable to fight the hint of excitement that enters his voice.

Uncle Iroh nods.

“I think you are ready.”

A glow of excitement courses through Zuko’s veins. _Lightning. Finally._ From what he’s heard, Azula has been able to control lightning for _years_ already. She has always been better than him.

It is high past time that he begins to even the score.

“I think I am too, Uncle,” he agrees. He raises his hands and places them in a neutral stance, resting at the level of his chest.

Uncle Iroh nods approvingly.

“Let us begin, then.” With a fluid motion that belies his age and bulk, he assumes a sharper iteration of the stance that Zuko has chosen. “First, I will walk you through the motions. I see that you have assumed a stance that is deep-seated, to strengthen your root. This is good.”

Zuko inclines his head at his uncle’s approval. He remembers Uncle Iroh yelling at him in his earlier years, telling him that he would never master anything past his basics if he allowed his opponents to _break his root_. Apparently, his bouts with Toph have helped him overcome that particular technical block.

_I should thank her the next time I see her._

Uncle Iroh lowers his hands to about the level of his navel.

“What is special about this part of the body, Prince Zuko?” he asks, his voice taking on a crisp, instructional air.

“Your stomach?” Zuko raises his eyebrows, thinking hard.

“Yes,” his uncle nods, before his face breaks into a broad smile. “Apart from its unparalleled ability to store giant quantities of delicious food, of course!”

He pats his round belly and winks.

“Um…” Zuko frowns. “I don’t know?” As far as he is concerned, his uncle has only ever lectured to him about the importance of his limbs and his breath when it comes to firebending.

_Wait_.

“Does it have something to do with breathing?” he ventures a guess, hesitantly.

His uncle tilts his head, thinking.

“Somewhat,” he concedes, with a nod of the head. “But not exactly. It has a little to do with _breath_ , but much more to do with _chi_.”

_Damn it_ , Zuko curses inwardly. _More spiritual energy stuff._

He tends to glaze over when his uncle lectures him on such matters.

“What is the relationship between breath and _chi_ , Prince Zuko?” his uncle quizzes him.

Zuko lets out a mental sigh of relief. An easy question.

“When you breathe, you let _chi_ into your body,” Zuko replies. After all, Uncle Iroh had _just_ explained something similar to them the day before. Even if the subject bores him to tears, some bits of it still stick. “Uh, breathing connects the _chi_ in our body with the _chi_ around us.”

“Correct.” His uncle smiles reassuringly at him. “And when you breathe, through which pathways in the body does your _chi_ flow?”

Zuko gapes at him.

_Now_ he’s at a loss.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “Doesn’t it just follow the path of your blood?”

His uncle’s smile doesn’t fade, but his face softens.

“Not exactly, Prince Zuko.” He traces a line from the extremities of his limbs down the axis of his body to his stomach. “The bloodstream is for blood. _Chi_ is not blood. It follows its own path. Like small rivers within your body. And –“

He points at his stomach, for emphasis.

“Like bodies of water, there are places in the body where the rivers open up and become lakes. Instead of flowing, the _chi_ collects in a pool. This can be a source of great power. But – “

Here, he fixes his nephew with a pointed, piercing stare.

“In the absence of proper spiritual discipline, these pools become blocked over time. You will remember what I said yesterday, about great bending masters mastering meditation and spiritual training. Only in this way will the _chi_ in their body flow unhindered.”

“I remember,” Zuko mutters, thinking about the last time he had meditated on something that wasn’t related to a girl or complicated family matters. It was an embarrassingly long time.

“So,” his uncle concludes, his hands returning to their spot above his stomach. “After all I have said, Prince Zuko, can you _now_ tell me what is special about this part of the body?”

“It’s a pool of _chi_ ,” Zuko says. And, as understanding hits him, he continues, “it’s where the _chi_ from outside your body collects when you breathe, isn’t it?”

Uncle Iroh beams at him.

“Yes! There are seven such areas of the body, but today we will focus on this one. Not coincidentally, it is referred to as the _fire chakra_.”

“ _Chakra_?” Zuko raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you call the pools of _chi_?”

Uncle Iroh nods enthusiastically.

“I see you are beginning to understand, my nephew.”

“And it’s the _fire_ _chakra_ because it’s the one most important to firebenders?” Zuko continues to guess. “Do different benders rely on different _chakras_ for their elements? Like…would a waterbender rely on a _water chakra_ , or an airbender need to clear his _air chakra_ or something?”

His mind flounders at the possibilities.

But his uncle only shrugs slowly.

“Not being anything other than a firebender myself, I cannot answer your questions, Prince Zuko,” he confesses, with a deep sigh. “I can only explain the _chakras_ as they relate to our own bending, and perhaps extrapolate them to fit other styles of bending. But without the input of benders from other nations, this cannot be anything other than a hypothetical discussion.”

“Is that why you assembled the four of us?” Zuko asks quickly, his mouth going dry. “To find out?”

Uncle Iroh only smiles cryptically.

“So many years ago,” he expounds, “when you wanted to skip ahead to more advanced firebending forms because Azula had, I refused to let you do so until you mastered the basics. You did not understand then, but now you do. Later on, when you pronounced yourself satisfied with the advanced forms that you had learned, I gave you still more corrections. _Focus on your breath, Prince Zuko_ , I said, _firebending comes from the breath_ , but you did not want to listen. You did not understand then, but now you do. And later still, when you wanted to advance to more complicated forms without strengthening your root, I warned that you would be easily thrown if you neglected your footwork. You did not understand then, but _now you do_.” His smile grows apologetic, and there is a glint in his eyes, a sharpness that Zuko cannot place. “Prince Zuko. You would not understand my reasons if I told them to you today. But trust me when I say that, as ever before, one day _you will_.”

Zuko lets out a slow sigh. The small feeling of indignation, acerbic and familiar, rises up in his gut like so many times before. Whenever he has been told that he is not ready, that he wouldn’t understand, that he simply _isn’t good enough_ …

“Fine,” he replies shortly, abruptly quelling the feeling, because that too is a reflex he has mastered over the years. He decides to redirect. “So what does this _fire chakra_ have to do with lightning?”

“Why,” Uncle Iroh says, holding his hands out wide, “ _everything_.” 

* * *

Katara is in the middle of reconstructing Chan’s pleural cavity when she hears the shift in his breath, the slight recoil of his body, which gives away his return to consciousness.

“Easy now,” she says quietly, her motions slowing to a halt as Chan’s eyes flit open and widen in fear at the sight of her hunched over his broken body. “Don’t make any sudden movements, or you’ll undo all of my work.”

“What,” mumbles Chan through what sounds like a clenched jaw, “what’s going – _get away from me, you waterbender freak!_ ”

He tries to lunge away but finds himself unable to move or draw breath without suffering agonizing pain in the chest.

“Breathe light, shallow breaths and the pain should go away,” Katara instructs, ignoring the frightened firebender’s outburst. “I’m in the middle of fixing your lungs. You’ll find yourself much more comfortable when I’m done.”

“ _Fixing_ my lungs?” Chan repeats, sucking in a gulp of air through his teeth and wincing at the sharp pain. “ _You broke them!_ ”

Katara does not look away.

“I did,” she admits.

“And now you expect me to believe that you’re _fixing them_?” Chan continues incredulously. “You expect me to _let you_?”

“Yes,” Katara answers. “You don’t have a choice, either way. You might as well make my job easier.”

“And what exactly is _your job_?” he demands.

“I told you,” Katara replies, returning her attention to the inside of his chest. “I’m fixing the mess I caused.”

“Why you?” Chan asks pointedly. “Why not one of the healers?”

“Because none of them _could_ ,” Katara answers forcefully. “Believe me, they tried.”

It is at this moment that Chan notices her hands on his chest, gloved in glowing water.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” he chokes out, fear gripping his voice. “ _What is that?_ ”

“I’m healing you,” Katara replies, with only an edge of irritation in her voice now. _I thought forgiveness would be easier, but he’s as annoying as I remember him to be._ “Healing. It’s a special art, sacred to my people. We use the water to heal. I’m using it to fix what your healers said was _irreparable_ damage.”

“But,” he stutters, “but I’m totally at your mercy! Where’s the other healer? What’s stopping you from finishing me off right now?”

“Basic human decency.” Katara rolls her eyes. “And enough repentance to impress an Air Nomad, I’d guess.”

“Or you could be playing with me,” Chan whispers conspiratorially. “You could be biding your time, trying to gain my trust, only to kill me off when I least expect it!”

“Chan.” Katara’s voice is sharp and no-nonsense. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already, long ago. That way I wouldn’t have to listen to your annoying voice. Now shut up and let me do my job.”

Chan is quiet for a while, as she resumes her efforts.

“I won’t be better again for a while, will I?”

Katara shakes her head.

“This is going to take a lot of time to heal. I could probably get the bulk of the damage fixed by the end of the week, but then there would be lots to do afterward. Rehabilitation, regular draining, residual healing…” she trails off, thinking hard. She shrugs. “I’ve never healed something of this magnitude, either.”

“You should have thought of that before you hurt me!” Chan’s voice is high-pitched and accusing. “This is all _your_ fault!”

Katara’s temper flares up.

“No. _You_ should have thought of that before picking fights with me for no reason,” she retaliates furiously. “If you’d just left me alone and let me live my life in peace, I wouldn’t have lashed out at you. But _no_. You _had_ to try and prove your dumb lesson to me. _This isn’t all my fault_. If you’re going to sit there and blame people for your condition, go start with yourself for a change.” She pauses. “I’ll continue to heal you because I made a promise to someone better than you. But keep giving me a hard time and _I swear_ I won’t put that much effort into it.”

She finishes by glaring at him.

Chan caves first.

“I’ll cooperate,” he grumbles.

“Thank you,” Katara replies coolly.

“But I don’t forgive you,” Chan finishes stubbornly, a sullen look crossing his face.

Katara narrows her eyes, concentrating on the vasculature of his inner chest wall.

“I’m heartbroken,” she laments sardonically. “But I think I’ll get over it.” 

* * *

Iroh resumes his starting stance, hands at the ready, and takes a deep breath through his nostrils.

“Remember that all energy is of duality in balance. _Yin_ and _yang_. Positive and negative. Lightning, for all its power, is simply firebending without aggression. The _cold-blooded_ fire. To properly generate lightning, one requires calmness of mind and stillness of spirit. Oneness with the energy around us. Then –“

His hands rotate slowly, trailing circular motions around his body. Zuko narrows his eyes, watching the motions.

“In this moment, I am concentrating on the _chi_ in my body,” his uncle says through gritted teeth, eyes screwed shut in concentration as he divides his focus on teaching his nephew and controlling the tiny, lazy sparks that trail from his fingertips. “I am separating the positive and negative energies within my body, creating an imbalance. Energy does not like this. It likes being whole, being one. All of its existence strives toward balance and unity. With all the discipline in my mind, I am focusing on holding the two parts apart, maintaining this disparity until the moment is right. And then –“

With an abrupt, forceful motion, Iroh brings his hands together and lunges forward with his right hand extended. A fearsome crash of lightning bursts forth, in a moment’s worth of light and sound.

“When the time is correct, I guide the energy as it crashes back together, producing lightning,” his uncle says, straightening out his limbs. “That is all. I do not command the energy, I do not fight it, I do not tell it where to go or what to do. I am one with it. In fact, I _surrender_ to it.” His gaze sharpens. “It is the relinquishing of thought and control that makes lightning generation so very perilous. To carry all that unstable energy within you, to surrender to that raw, consuming power and fight the firebender’s instinct to hunger and emotion and control… It is no wonder that so few of our kind are well suited to bending lightning.” He tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “I often tell myself that it is a mercy to our kind that the airbenders cannot control lightning. With the emphasis on detachment and spiritual balance in airbending, I cannot help but think that they would have quite an aptitude for it. That they would be the most precise and deadly lightning-benders of us all if they could.”

“Good thing they’re pacifist monks,” Zuko comments, his mind skipping ahead of itself in trying to digest his uncle’s words. _Breathe. Meditate on the_ chi _in your body. Separate the energies in two different pathways. Don’t be a control freak. Guide the separated energies back together without getting fried. Think like an airbender_.

He tries to think of how Aang would absorb this new lesson. With enthusiasm? Trepidation? Humility?

“Want to try?” Uncle Iroh suggests gently.

“Yes!” Zuko is eager, itching to prove himself. He is _tired_ of being held back, of being kept in the dark, of settling. More than anything, he wants to prove that he’s _good enough_. For himself, for his family, for her –

“Remember,” his uncle warns him, “you do not control the energy. You are merely –“

“Its guide,” Zuko finishes, already striking up the starting position that he’d seen his uncle hold. “I know. I was listening.”

Uncle Iroh gives him a reassuring smile.

“Then we’ll begin. Follow my instructions _slowly_. Do _not_ skip ahead or you may injure yourself. If at any moment you feel unsafe or out of control, use your legs to deflect to the ground.”

“I’m ready,” Zuko announces quietly, pushing the flutter of thoughts away, trying to find the quiet spot in his mind. _What would Aang do?_

“Breathe first,” his uncle instructs.

Zuko closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose, feeling the rush of sun-warmed autumn air in his nostrils, filling his airways and expanding the cavern of his chest and lungs.

He focuses on his stomach, the expansive pool of energy that has always existed there, and for a moment, he visualizes the energy rushing into his body to fill it, like some internal waterfall filling a reservoir, like a dam bursting within himself.

“Good, Prince Zuko,” his uncle comments. “You are one with the energy around you. Focus on your breath, on the energy within your stomach, below your heart, and then separate them.”

He feels the pool of energy in his belly heating up, and maybe he imagines the little sparks flitting around inside him, dancing off the surface of the lake.

_Separate the energies_ , he resolves.

A pause, and then –

_How the hell do you do that?_

A thread of unease weaves its way into his thoughts.

The pool of energy in his stomach stirs and courses.

“Use the motions of your hands, Prince Zuko,” his uncle calls out, perhaps sensing his unease. “It will help you guide the energies apart.”

_Right_ , he remembers, directing his focus to his hands. _Bending is a bodily action too_.

He starts with his right hand, trying to recreate the slow rotations that his uncle had demonstrated. First the right hand, and then the left, in slow, opposing circles that span the breadth and height of his stomach and surround the _chakra_ in his gut.

_Is it working?_

The old anxiety creeps into his mind, looming, distracting, controlling –

_Why isn’t it working? What am I doing wrong?_

He’s going through the motions. His form is correct, his thoughts are focused, and he can _feel_ the _chi_ rippling in his body, something he’s never actually been able to feel before, but _still_ –

_They’re not separating_. Unease is slowly replaced by panic. _I can’t do this. I don’t feel them separating._

_Maybe they are_ , replies the voice of bravado, of uncertain arrogance. _You don’t know what it feels like. Maybe you’re doing it right and psyching yourself out because you don’t know any better._

_Or maybe you’re doing it wrong._ The panic continues to nibble away at his zen. _Maybe you can’t do it at all because you’re not as good as Azula and you’ll never be and you already know it_.

“Focus on the energy, Prince Zuko!” His uncle’s voice sounds like it is very far away. “You are trying too hard to _control_. Try instead to _surrender_.”

Zuko returns his thoughts to the swirling pool of energy inside of him. His hands have taken up the motions almost of their own accord. He pushes the frantic thoughts away, trying to hide from them.

_Focus on the pool of energy and feel them separate,_ he tells himself.

His hands move in circles, and he can _feel_ the tides within him following his motions.

_Good_. _Hang on to that. Give in to that_.

The pool begins to split in a shallow divide. He feels the sparks dancing on his fingertips, and his heart speeds up.

“ _Good_!” Uncle Iroh’s approving pronouncement fills his ears. “You are doing well, Prince Zuko! Keep it up!”

_Yes, keep it up. You’re good at giving in. Remember the Agni Kai?_

The voice in his head, the one that sounds like his father, appears out of nowhere. It whispers in his ears but the sound is loud enough to drown out his uncle’s praise.

_Remember how you couldn’t fight, how you begged for mercy? Why don’t you try that now? Maybe the lightning will feel sorry for you. Or maybe it won’t, because lightning is strong like your father and not weak like you._

Something starts to go wrong. The flow of energy within him follows the motions of his hands, but it is sluggish. Like mud instead of water.

_No, don’t listen to it,_ he tries to tell himself. _Uncle Iroh said that surrender was key. That voice just wants to keep you weak. That voice is the reason most firebenders can’t bend lightning._

He tries to push it away, but the thoughts in his head that speak with his father’s voice are relentless.

_Iroh is weak and so are you. Next to Azula, you’re nothing. Next to your father, you’re nothing. They would squish you like an insect if they thought you were important enough. You’re lucky you’re so inconsequential to them, that they don’t see you as a threat. It’s the only reason you’re still alive._

Here in the recesses of his mind, faced with the sound of his breathing and the echo of his beating heart and the crackling of energy humming deep within him, there is nowhere left to hide.

_Your grandfather was almost assassinated and nobody at home thought to tell you._ You _were almost assassinated and nobody back home even knows. Good thing they don’t, or you would probably have to find out that they don’t care about you at all. You should be flattered that the Dai Li are trying to take you out. Katara was right when she called you the low-hanging fruit in the royal family. You’re like a withered leaf, adrift on the wind, with no purpose and no direction._

His hands move listlessly of their own accord. The energy swells within him turbulently. It feels wrong and a sense of impending doom rises in his gut, like something very bad is going to happen.

_Of course_ , sneers that dark voice in his mind. _Did you honestly think that you could control lightning? You’re so weak and unimportant. Nothing you do will ever change that. Even Katara is stronger than you. A no-name country bumpkin Water Tribe peasant, and your father will ask about her before he asks about you. Even_ she’s _too good for you. Face it, Zuko. You’ll never see home and you’ll never be loved and you’ll never make a difference. You know it’s true. You can fight it all you want, but in the end, you’ll lose._

It feels difficult to move. His hands are moving out of control, now, and the sparks in his hands are growing very hot, almost too hot.

_You’re losing control_. _Seize it. Take control of it now, while you still can. It isn’t too late to change your fate. That is, if you even can._

“You’re fighting, Prince Zuko,” his uncle warns him, his voice rising sharply. “You must let go. Clear your mind. Pride, resentment, shame, they will only get in your way.”

_Pride. Resentment. Shame._ Zuko feels the doubt gnawing at him as his hands shudder out of his control. _They’re all I have left._ _I can’t let go._

_You have to let go._

_But I can’t_.

“Prince Zuko, _watch out_!”

The crackling burst of fire that erupts from his hands is one of the biggest explosions he’s ever conjured. The backlash knocks him to the ground, rolling and tumbling into the dirt twelve feet away.

_I’m a failure. I’ll always be a failure._

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out through a mouthful of dirt as his uncle rushes over and kneels over him, pressing a hand against his shoulder. “I failed. Like always.”

“You didn’t _fail_ ,” Uncle Iroh tells him gently, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “You did so well. You almost had it. Nobody generates lightning on their first try.”

“I wasn’t close! It _blew up in my face_!” The dust caked on his face hides the tears of frustration that are now streaming from his eyes. “Like everything else I do. Why do I even try? What’s the point of any of it? What am I even working for?”

He lets out a shuddering breath, before the thought eating away at him, the thought that _really_ haunts him, spills out.

“Azula probably did it perfectly,” he spits venomously. “Like everything else she does. Everything comes to her _naturally_. Why can’t I be like that? Why do I have to struggle so much when she and my father don’t? _It isn’t fair_.”

His uncle is silent for a few moments longer, before he clutches Zuko by the shoulders and pulls him up to a sitting position, in one smooth motion.

“No,” he agrees, wiping the tears away from Zuko’s cheeks. “No, it isn’t fair, Prince Zuko. That is why you must continue, to work harder than she ever has. It is your gift and your curse.”

“How is it a _gift_?” Zuko demands, feeling the old anger rising within him. “I’m _weak_ and _inconsequential_ and I’ll never do anything with my life. _How is that a gift_?”

His uncle regards him solemnly.

“Those are your father’s words, Prince Zuko. Not yours,” he says sadly. “You are still so young and life is full of mysteries. Who is your father to command it so?”

_He’s my father_ , Zuko thinks to himself, closing his eyes. _I hate him but I love him. And I wish he loved me. I wish he never had to hurt me._

“I just wish,” he mumbles instead, “that I wasn’t weak.”

Uncle Iroh sighs, before tightening his grip on his nephew’s shoulders.

“Look at me, Prince Zuko.”

Zuko hesitates a moment before he complies.

“You are not _weak_ ,” his uncle tells him firmly. “You are one of the most talented and persistent firebenders I have ever seen –“

“You’re just saying that to make me _feel better_ ,” Zuko retorts, his voice fierce with loathing. “I’m not _that good._ Maybe around here I’m the big fish in the small pond, but back home –“

“If you find yourself lacking in the finesse and prodigy of your family members, it is because your mind has been poisoned by the influence of your father and robbed you of the confidence and purpose and direction you need,” Uncle Iroh interrupts him in a measured, calm voice. “Years away from him have helped you, I think, but only to a limit –“

“I still don’t hold a candle to Azula,” Zuko argues miserably. “I don’t think I ever will.”

Uncle Iroh’s eyes are sad.

“It is true that your younger sister is gifted, with a level of skill and ease of mastery that comes once in generations,” he agrees. “Against such raw talent and power, it is easy to lose one’s sense of self worth. But you are more than a footnote in her story, no matter what Ozai has told you.” He pauses, and his eyes blaze with anger. “Of all the terrible things my brother has done, and there are far more than I can count, the way he treated you is one of the things I do not think I can forgive.”

Zuko swallows. His body is shaking.

“Then you’re a stronger man than I am.” The admission leaves him raw. It has been a long time since he’s felt this wretched. This weak. This pathetic.

“Prince Zuko.” His uncle gives him a little shake by the shoulders, as though trying to snap him out of it. “You love your father. You love him in spite of hating everything he did to you. That is not a weakness. That is strength. _Tremendous_ strength.”

“No it _isn’t_ ,” Zuko argues back, hating himself with every word. “I _shouldn’t_ love him! I should _hate him_. I _do_ hate him! But I should hate him _more_. I shouldn’t care about what he thinks. I shouldn’t care about wanting his approval or his love or being replaced by Azula…” His voice trails off as he finds himself unable to speak.

“Love is not a weakness,” Uncle Iroh insists. “No matter what your father has taught you. But you have suffered and been grievously hurt, in more ways than one. Sometimes it is difficult to see in the darkness. Sometimes it is easy to feel like the love we carry is more a burden than a gift. Something inconvenient that weakens us and makes us vulnerable, that we must rid ourselves of in order to strive for power and glory. Does that sound familiar to you?”

Zuko nods.

“Azula takes after her father,” his uncle continues in his comforting, steady, calm voice. “Like my brother, she will rise rapidly, treasuring nothing and no one but herself and her love for power. This will cost her dearly.” He takes Zuko’s face in his hands, looking straight into his eyes. “We may strive for glory, Prince Zuko, but we live and die for love. Your father, for all his ambitions, has ignored this and for that, he is a fool. Pity him if you can, love him if you must, and in time, come out from under his shadow. Do you understand?”

Zuko pauses, considering his uncle’s words carefully.

His unscrupulous father has power and ambition in spades. He has a strong heir in Azula. He has the support of the court back home, and of late, the dubious complicity of Emperor Azulon.

But his uncle, heir apparent to the imperial throne, commands the military in its entirety. He is mild-mannered and humble, but also a seasoned war general and strategist. His heir, Lu Ten, while not as prodigiously talented as Azula, is also a respected captain within the navy. Both of them have spent their lives among soldiers and sailors and common-folk, inspiring loyalty from the people of all corners of the empire.

The people may _fear_ Ozai, but they _love_ Iroh.

And if it came to a power struggle, they might fight for Ozai. But they would _die_ for Iroh.

“I think I do,” he whispers, scrubbing at his cheeks. He clears his throat, trying to compose himself. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“There is nothing to thank me for,” Uncle Iroh says, helping his nephew to his feet.

Zuko takes a deep breath and exhales. He already feels lighter.

“I think I’m ready to try generating lightning again,” he offers.

But Uncle Iroh waves him off.

“ _No_ ,” he declares, “no, you’re not. You must clear your mind of all your burdens, Prince Zuko, or risk repeating this many times over. I have decided that you will not attempt this again until you commit yourself to proper spiritual training.”

“What?” Zuko groans. “ _Why_?”

“Because it is apparent that you sorely require it,” Uncle Iroh says firmly, and his face brightens. “In fact, I think all four of you could benefit from some more spiritual discipline! I’ll pass the message on to Sifu Aang and Toph and Katara! _Meditation boot camp_ , starting tomorrow, until I’m satisfied with everyone’s performance…”

Zuko imagines facing Aang, Katara, and Toph, as well as the combined looks of frustration on their faces when they find out that because of him, instead of sparring, they’re going to be meditating for the indefinite future.

He gulps.

_Toph is going to_ kill _me_.

 


	17. falling so slow (pt. ii: deconstruct)

**disclaimer.** ATLA  & all its associated content are property of bryke. i'm just a cheap imitation.

**author's notes**. well that took longer than expected. i seem to have written myself into a bit of a knot and it took forever to figure out how to undo it. hence the constant rewriting of this chapter (and even still it's turned into a giant ham-and-cheese sandwich. oh well...) a hefty dose of writer's block didn't help much either. but i forced this one out. also summertime means none of your time is actually your own. *sigh*

anyway enough of the excuses. thank you very much to everyone who's been leaving feedback! means a lot to me! please keep it up!

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter xvii.** falling so slow _(pt. ii: deconstruct)_

* * *

_why not give it a shot_  
_shake it, take control and inevitably wind up_  
_find out for yourself_  
_all the strengths that you have inside of you_  
  
"song for a friend"/jason mraz

* * *

“I’m going to _kill_ him,” Toph declares the next morning.

Katara sighs, dragging a comb through her bedraggled hair.

“If it has to be murder, can it wait until breakfast?” she asks placidly. “I’m _starving_.”

Toph considers her words momentarily.

“Me too,” she agrees, raking an impatient hand through her thick, black bangs. “Okay fine, breakfast first and _then_ murder. You in?”

Katara presses her lips together as she puts the comb down and proceeds to braid her hair.

“I’ll think about it,” she says lightly. “Our last plan didn’t exactly pan out, you know.”

“Yeah,” Toph admits, stepping out of their shared room. “But _that_ was because I’d feel bad about killing Grandpa. This is _Sparky_ we’re talking about now.”

“Yeah, but…” Katara flounders, thinking quickly. “Even he’s got his uses too, I suppose?”

She closes the door behind her and turns the key in its lock, missing the quick grin that flits briefly over Toph’s face.

“I guess you’re right on that one, Sugar Queen,” Toph drawls as they set off for the canteen for breakfast. “After all, if we get rid of Sparky, we lose the best eye candy this establishment has to offer!”

She finishes her declaration with a sly, pointed smile.

Katara rolls her eyes.

“What does it matter to you? _You’re blind_.”

“Yeah, but even this blind girl can appreciate a set of symmetrical features!” Toph lets out a small whistle as she gestures to herself. “And let me tell you. His are _quite_ symmetrical.”

“Well.” Katara looks thoughtful, casting about for the appropriate thing to say as they step into the soft morning daylight. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“Argue with what?” pipes up Suki, falling in step with them. She’s joined by Ty Lee, who is walking on her hands. Katara has learned by now not to question it.

“Morning, Ty Lee. Suki,” she greets the two girls with a nod of her head. “Toph was just saying that, uh, when it comes to facial symmetry in this camp –“

“Sparky’s the hottest,” Toph summarizes succinctly, with a nod of her head. “That’s all I was saying. He’s hot. _Real_ hot.”

“Well _duh,_ ” Ty Lee blurts out, somersaulting back onto her feet. “Of course he is.”

“Was that ever really a debate?” Suki queries with a small smirk. “You don’t really have to be into Fire Nation types to appreciate that guy.”

“Yeah, you’d have to be _blind_ to not see it –“ Ty Lee begins, but Toph clears her throat loudly.

“ _Hey_. I resent that.” She grins wolfishly. “I’m blind and _I_ see it.”

“Sorry, Toph,” Ty Lee apologizes quickly, turning a shade of pink that matches her attire. “I should probably rephrase. _You don’t even need eyes_ to see that Zuko’s a total ten-out-of-ten knockout!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Katara sniffs, with a lot more disdain than she actually feels. “I didn’t realize that the _Zuko fan club_ was assembling here.”

“And you’re _not_?” Toph parries, raising an eyebrow. “Come on. You have eyes, don’t you?”

“Well, yes –?“

“And you’re attracted to men,” Ty Lee states, looking around in confusion. “Right?”

“Well, _yes_ –“

“Then you _have to agree here_!” Ty Lee concludes earnestly, clapping her hands together.

“I wasn’t fighting the point,” Katara concedes in bewilderment. “He’s a good-looking guy. I was just surprised that he has so many –“ she pauses, searching for the correct words, “- _loyal_ fans. Wasn’t he literally just dating your best friend?”

“She has a point, you know,” Suki mutters wryly, nudging Ty Lee in the rib. “Try keeping it classy once in a while.”

“He _was_ , but that’s over now, and I don’t need to have a _personal_ interest to appreciate our resident Sifu Hotman, okay?” Ty Lee clarifies, jamming her hands on her hips.

Katara raises an eyebrow and winces.

“ _Sifu Hotman_?” she echoes disbelievingly. “Seriously?”

“Well, it’s accurate!” Ty Lee shoots back defensively. She looks around nervously. “Right?”

“It does have a nice ring to it,” Suki confesses with a bit of a giggle.

“Suits him too!” Toph declares cheerfully. “Though personally I like _Sparky_ more." 

Katara groans.

“You guys are insane.”

* * *

“When was the last time,” General Iroh begins wearily, casting his light amber gaze across his tepid audience, “ _any_ of you meditated?”

His query is answered by a prolonged silence, deafening in its certainty.

Then –

“A couple of weeks ago?” Aang offers sheepishly.

“Just the other day,” Zuko sighs, relieved to know that even the _monk_ meditates less frequently than him.

“It’s been a month,” Katara admits. “Or six. Closer to six.” She pauses, crossing her arms across her chest. “Okay, maybe nine. I don’t remember.”

“I don’t meditate,” Toph declares imperviously. _I dare you to make me_ , says the tone of her voice.

General Iroh raises a hand and massages his temples with it.

“I see I have my work cut out for me here,” he mutters under his breath. “I suddenly wish I was a younger man.”

“Why do you wish that, General?” Aang asks nervously, his grey eyes wide.

“Because the odds of me dying an old man before my task is complete would be lessened somewhat,” General Iroh retorts sharply. “Never mind. Until I am satisfied with your progress, you are all forbidden from using your bending. Starting _now_.”

“Um. What?” Zuko can scarcely believe his ears. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I say, Prince Zuko.” General Iroh’s voice is uncharacteristically stern, and his kindly face is no longer beaming. On the contrary, his broad pleasant features appear to be carved from stone. It makes him appear suddenly rather imposing. “You are henceforth forbidden from using your bending, until the time _I_ say so.”

“Like…no bending for fighting, right?” Aang clarifies quickly. “You don’t actually mean…?”

The look the General gives him makes him falter in realization.

“You can’t be serious, Uncle!” Zuko exclaims, his fists clenching in outrage. “No bending _at all?_ How – how am I supposed to see after dark if I can’t firebend?”

“I suggest you borrow a spark-rock.” General Iroh’s response is swift and cutting.

“How am I supposed to _bathe_?” Katara blurts out in horror. Ever since the incident with Chan and his friends spying on her in the bath, she has taken to erecting a solid wall of ice while she bathes in order to gain some extra privacy.

“A bucket, then.”

Toph’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly.

“ _How am I supposed to see_?” she demands in a voice that is somehow both high-pitched and low at the same time. “What do you suggest I borrow for that, Grandpa?" 

Aang, Zuko, and Katara all turn their heads to face the blind earthbender in mutual, horrified realization.

General Iroh is silent for a moment.

“A shoulder,” he says somberly.

Toph chokes.

“You’re _joking_ ,” she seethes, with a snort of disbelieving laughter. “You can’t possibly expect me to go back to living like – like a _cripple_?”

“Toph’s right, that’s going too far,” Zuko speaks up. “Even for you, Uncle.”

But General Iroh is unwaveringly resolute.

“I am doing what I have to for your own good,” he barks at them in return. “It is clear that outstanding benders though you are, you have not learned to _respect_ the discipline required to sustain your talents. You are like little children playing with fancy toys, excited by the thrills but heedless of the consequences. And you will never take it seriously unless I _make_ you. So yes, Prince Zuko, you are correct. I _am_ going too far, for your own good. And if the loss of your own bending is not sufficiently motivating, perhaps the loss of your friends’ bending will be enough for the four of you to finally dedicate yourselves to my lessons.”

“I’m not going to do it,” Toph declares stubbornly, her usually brusque voice an unsteady thread. “You can’t make me.”

Iroh’s eyes are sympathetic as they settle on the blind earthbender.

“I know this will be hardest on you, Sifu Toph,” he says gently. “Not just because of what your bending means to you personally, but because of all the freedoms it affords you. However, you must understand that it is not my intention to punish, but only to challenge you to become better than you ever have been. I would not make you do this if I felt you were incapable of it.”

Toph sniffs and her head hangs low, her face staring sightlessly at the ground by her toes.

Katara feels her heart lunge for the strong, stubborn earthbender, who in spite of her brashness and occasional tactlessness has wormed her way into a particular soft spot of hers.

“But as your General and superior officer…” Iroh continues ruefully, “I am giving you an order, Toph. If you refuse to obey, you will be dismissed from the army on grounds of insubordination. I do not wish for it to come to that, but –“

“ _You’re the worst!_ ” Toph’s shriek echoes across the morning air. Her hands clutch at her head and she slams a foot into the ground. Ripples course through the earth within a ten-foot radius of her. “I can’t do this.”

Iroh inclines his head and sighs.

“Perhaps you all need a moment.”

He steps back and away, receding past the line of trees to a spot where they can’t see or hear him.

Toph heaves a shuddering breath in and exhales slowly before dropping to the ground in cross-legged frustration.

It is Aang who kneels down beside her and places a tentative, reassuring hand on her shoulder first.

“I know this must be really scary for you, Toph,” he says. “Really scary and isolating. Not being able to bend means not being able to see and not being independent –“

“That’s not it,” Toph chokes out, and Katara is shocked to see the girl’s strong shoulders _shaking_ with the effort to hold herself together. “It’ll be like _going back_.”

“Going back?” Katara echoes, her forehead crinkling with confusion as she walks over to the two of them and sits down next to them.

“ _Home_ ,” Toph clarifies, and this time there is no mistaking the steady stream coursing down her cheeks. “It’ll be like going home.”

Katara frowns.

“Do they…” and it strikes her then, that _maybe_ , as impossible as it seems, the unflappable and invulnerable Toph has been running away from something too. And maybe to the others, _home_ does not bring with it the same pang of heartsickness and longing that it does for her, but fear of a different sort. “Do they not let you bend at home, Toph?”

Toph’s shoulders stiffen, before she shakes her head quickly.

“My parents are really controlling and they don’t like my bending,” she explains in a tight voice, wiping at her cheeks and brushing her bangs out of her face. “I ran away once. When they caught me and had me brought home, they padded my room with metal and locked me in there for a week.”

“Why the metal?” Katara queries hesitantly.

“Because you can’t earthbend with metal,” Toph answers bitterly.

Horrified silence greets her words.

Katara suddenly feels sick to her stomach.

“ _Agni_ ,” she hears Zuko breathe, before he plants himself on the ground in front of Toph. The expression on his face reminds her unsettlingly of the way he’d looked the previous night, when talking about _Agni Kai_. “That’s – that’s just awful. No parent should do that to their child.”

“They said they did it because they loved me.” Toph’s voice is small, and for the first time does Katara remember that she’s only fifteen years old and still _so young_.

“I’m sure they do, Toph,” Katara answers, trying to be comforting but feeling awkwardly out of her depth.

“I’m sure they do too, but that doesn’t excuse their actions,” Zuko replies softly, his bright gold eyes fixed on Toph’s forlorn face. “What they did to you wasn’t about love, Toph. It was about _control_.”

“Zuko’s right,” Aang speaks up, and there’s a grimness in his young face that takes Katara aback. “There are times when your elders will try to control you because they love you. But there are also other times when they’ll try to control you because they view you as property. It’s hard to see the difference at first and even harder to accept, but sometimes it’s okay to let yourself feel trapped by that.”

“I don’t _want_ to feel trapped,” Toph snaps. “I’m _tired_ of it. I picked up earthbending _because_ of how tired I was of it! All my life I’ve been kept in a cage and called a cripple! Weak, frail, helpless – well, I’m _none_ of those things! I’m going to be the greatest earthbender in the world and _nobody_ is going to stop me – not even your dumb uncle, Sparky – and I’ll _never_ let myself be trapped again!”

“But you are,” Katara speaks up despite herself, and she _feels_ everyone turn their heads to glare at her. “You _are_ still trapped, Toph. You’re just in a different prison.”

“What do you mean?” Toph demands incredulously. “I’m _free_ , okay? I can _see_ with earthbending – I can _see_ more than any of you. I can protect myself and pull my own weight, I’ll never have to depend on my parents ever again…”

“As long as you keep running,” Katara finishes for Toph. “But what will you do when you run out of places to hide? You may not be in an actual cage right now, but you’re still allowing your fear to trap you. That’s why you have to be so strong all the time and act like nothing gets you down but – but it’s just a front, isn’t it? Behind the mask, you’re terrified. What if your parents find you? What if you have to go home? What if you’re so dependent on your bending that you can’t even go a couple of days without it?”

Toph is quiet, but Katara can see the thoughts whirling in her head, reflected in her pale green eyes.

“What are you saying?” Zuko demands, outrage written across his face as he levels an intensely pointed stare in her direction. “Are you saying that she should go along with this? That we all should?”

And suddenly, Katara finds herself temporarily speechless as she returns his heated gaze. Not only because of the intensity of his words but because her heart has started beating at twice its normal rate and there is a rush of blood to her head and her mouth is suddenly dry, and even when he’s angry _she isn’t afraid_ _of him anymore._

The realization, when it hits her, is both liberating and exhilarating.

“This may sound crazy but,” Katara cannot believe the words that are pouring out her mouth, “ _yes_.”

The pause that follows her words is tinged with many unspoken thoughts.

Zuko finds his voice first.

“ _Why_?”

Katara holds her ground.

_He really is beautiful_. The thought springs up in her mind unbidden. Impossible. Terrifying in its simplicity. _Even when he’s mad. Especially when he’s mad._

“ _Because_ ,” she says with emphasis, trying to focus on the matter at hand and _not_ at how his eyes, as much as they resemble his father’s, glimmer in the sunlight like the element he bends – “because as much as I hate to admit it, I – I think your uncle is _right_ , Zuko.”

“ _What_?” Toph blurts out, turning her head to face her, her eyes full of fury. “I knew you were a goody-two-shoes, Sugar Queen, but how can you agree with _Grandpa_ here?”

“I –“ Katara falters under Toph’s angry glare, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “I – I can’t explain it, I just –“

She thinks of herself, and her brother, and the tumultuous journey that brought her here. Of her anger and her hatred and her fear, and the week spent in isolation. Of _Chan_ , lying comatose in a cot in the healing tent, all because of her.

And then she thinks of what came after. Jia, the old healer who helped her heal and trusted her when she had no reason to. Ty Lee, a girl who was Fire Nation through and through and _still_ somehow a welcome sight. General Iroh, the _Crown Prince_ and Heir Apparent himself, who had stood up for her and given her a second chance when she had given up hope, at her darkest moment. Even _Mai_ , suffering through a quiet breakup with no reason to look twice at her, had tried to warn her in her own way. _He doesn’t deserve your hatred_ , she’d said…

And that brings her to Zuko and the whorl of complicated feelings the sight of him once brought to her. The _hatred_ , the primal, savage urge for revenge and justice and bloodlust, always there but simmering away, just below her anger, her cynicism, her fear, her sense of inevitable doom. The feeling of perpetual injustice: that the world was cruel and always against her, and she’d always have to fight every step of the way, always, just to _survive_. And the grief, always, the grief of loss and mourning, of homesickness and nostalgia and loneliness all melded into one…

All of that carried like a stone in her heart.

She no longer fears the firebenders. Chan is a source of pity and shame, and her progress with him, irritating as he is, only makes her feel better about herself. And Zuko…the thought of reconciling with him fills her with a thrill she can’t explain – perhaps it’s hope, perhaps it’s something more – but she would have considered it _unthinkable_ not two weeks ago…

All those burdens, now washed away.

And she feels –

“Free,” she says quietly, and raises her chin just slightly. “I think it would make us feel free.”

Another pause follows her statement, this one disbelieving.

“You’re _joking_ ,” Toph splutters. “How would going back to being blind and helpless make me feel that?”

“Because running away from your fears doesn’t set you free,” Katara answers, her voice trembling a little but still eerily calm. “Going back and confronting them, _that_ does.”

Aang inhales sharply at her words.

“I think you’re _right_ , Katara,” he agrees in a hushed, deferential voice.

“Not you _too_ , Twinkletoes,” Toph groans, holding her head in her hands.

“No, but think about it, Toph,” Aang goes on, his eyes wide with the epiphany. “We _are_ all running away from something. That’s what brought us all here, isn’t it?” His bright grey eyes scan the rest of them. “It brought us together. But what if it isn’t enough?”

“What difference does it make?” Toph demands, but now Zuko’s expression has shifted from pure outrage to uncertainty. “What do the bending spirits of the universe _care_ whether or not I’ve gotten over my daddy issues? I learned how to bend from the _badgermoles_ , okay? I use my bending to _see_ what you dunderheads _can’t_. I’m _always bending_ , every waking minute. _Why isn’t that enough_?”

Aang looks thoughtful.

“There was an airbending guru who lived thousands of years ago,” he muses, scratching at his chin, “called Laghima –“

“ _I don’t want to hear what some old gasbag had to say –_ “

“- who was able to unlock the highest ability of airbending,” Aang continues his story, heedless of Toph’s exasperated protests. “He conquered gravity itself and was able to _fly_. No one in recent memory has been able to do it.”

“Why?” Katara asks, frowning. “Did he keep it a secret?”

Aang shakes his head.

“No. He wrote a poem about it, explaining exactly how he did it.”

“Did the poem get lost?” Zuko asks, his interest piqued reluctantly in spite of his reservations.

Aang shakes his head.

“No. We know how it goes.” He clears his throat and begins to recite. “ _Let go your earthly tether. Enter the void. Empty and become wind_.”

His words echo in the morning air.

“What does that even _mean_?” Toph scoffs.

But now it is Zuko who speaks up, in that same breathy voice of realization.

“It means that you have to let go,” and his voice quivers with _something_ that Katara can’t quite place, a darkness, a weight that she doesn’t fully understand but _feels_ nonetheless, “you have to surrender. Whatever it is that holds you back, whatever it is you’re running away from. Whatever it is that you can’t let go.” He swallows. “Pride, resentment, shame…”

“Hatred,” Katara takes up his list and adds to it with her own. “Anger. Loss.”

“Prejudice,” Aang confesses, and the rest of them look at him in surprise. “Isolation. Responsibility.”

_There is so much I don’t know about him_ , Katara thinks to herself, watching the young monk with appraising eyes. _What is_ he _running away from?_

And then Toph closes her eyes.

“Control,” she whispers. “Fear. Loneliness.”

Katara places a hand on the girl’s shoulder, and _feels_ her tough facade of control start to give way.

“It would feel good to let all that go,” she suggests tentatively, “wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” Toph agrees remotely. “Except I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can go back to being cut off again. To being all alone.”

“But you _won’t_ be alone this time,” Katara promises, her voice quiet but rock steady. “We’ll be with you, every step of the way.”

“ _None_ of us will be alone,” Aang declares, grabbing one of Toph’s hands with both of his own. He faces her, then Katara, then Zuko, his grey eyes shining bright. “As long as we’ve got each other, we’ll get through this. As long as we’re here, we’re _safe_.”

“If we do this, we’ll be unstoppable,” Toph realizes finally, and she tilts her head up to face them. “No one would stand a chance against us. Not my parents, not the army generals, not even those Dai Li bastards trying to off your family, Sparky.”

The three of them look at Zuko expectantly. His face is carefully expressionless.

“We’ll do it, then,” he acquiesces, finally, in his low gravelly voice, “whatever it takes. If it means being the best –“ he glances at Aang, “ – if you can learn to _fly_ and I can learn to control lightning and you two can do –“ he tosses a puzzled glance at Toph and then Katara, “ – _whatever_ higher abilities you guys have to unlock – we’ll do it.”

“Together,” Aang proclaims, holding a hand out. “We’ll face it _together_.”

“We’ll be the _best_ Avatar in the history of the world,” Toph asserts, thrusting her hand out as well.

“And anyone who gets in our way,” Katara states, placing Toph’s hand on top of Aang’s and covering it with her own, “anyone who tries to stop us –”

“ – will be _sorry_ they ever crossed us,” Zuko finishes, a ringing finality in his voice as he puts his hand on top of Katara’s.

A jolt runs through her spine at the gesture, but she holds his gaze nonetheless.

_He really does have striking eyes_ , she notes to herself. _Even with the scar_.

And when his eyes linger on her and the faintest flush dusts his pale face, something like a knot winds itself in the pit of her stomach, and –

_Oh_. She looks away, and so does he.

Perhaps it’s hope. Perhaps it’s something more.

“I see you have come to an agreement, then?” calls out General Iroh’s voice, as he returns to the clearing where they are all sitting in a circle, their hands stacked one on top of the other in an unmistakable gesture of unity.

“We have,” Aang answers, withdrawing his hand from the circle.

“We’ll do what you say, Uncle,” Zuko replies steadily, but he is quick to remove his hand from the circle also, as though he’s been burned. “We’ll stop bending until you’re satisfied with our progress in your lessons.”

General Iroh’s face breaks into a heartfelt smile. His eyes are wistful.

“ _All_ of you?” he queries.

“All of us,” Katara speaks up, holding Toph by the arms as she helps her to her feet. The blind earthbender moves without her usual confidence but is not ungainly on her feet either. “We’ll commit to the spiritual training and discipline you think we need.”

“ _Excellent_ ,” General Iroh breathes, clapping his hands together in pride. “If you apply the same dedication to my lessons as you do to your bending, I am certain that you will not have to suffer for _too_ long.”

He steps up to right in front of Toph, where she stands clutching at Katara’s arm, her sightless eyes far-off and slack.

“I am proud of you for taking this step, Sifu Toph,” he says to her quietly. “I realize it cannot have been an easy decision for you. All I can say is that your courage and dedication _will_ pay off in due course.”

“Great!” Toph exclaims, her voice a little too bright. “Then let’s get to work, Grandpa!”

To emphasize her point, she outstretches her hands in a gesture of enthusiasm. With the lack of her seismic sense and ability to judge distance, however, she ends up smacking the General right in the face with the back of her hand.

Katara presses a fist into her mouth, to stop herself from giggling at the angelic look on Toph’s face and the utter exasperation on General Iroh’s face giving way to resignation. 

“Whoops,” Toph apologizes innocently, but there is a wickedly mirthful gleam in her sightless eyes. “ _Sorry_ , Grandpa, it was an accident! That would _never_ have happened if I could _see_ …”

* * *

“Surprise, surprise,” Jun mutters to herself, bringing Nyla to a halt with a motion of her knees. “Of course we’d end up here.”

The ornate Cultural Center of Ba Sing Se, formerly the Imperial Earth Kingdom Royal Palace, looms before her in all of its tall, imposing glory.

“Well, I guess I’d better go in and take a look around,” she sighs, sliding off the shirshu’s back in one fluid, practiced motion. “You stay put, Nyla.”

To emphasize her point, she reaches into the satchel swinging from her side, pulls out a strip of dried meat, and tosses it at Nyla’s head.

The shirshu tosses its head and leaps to catch the morsel of food in its mouth, snapping as it chews appreciately.

“Good girl,” Jun comments, running a hand through Nyla’s stringy mane. “I’ll be back.”

Nyla sits back on her haunches as Jun crosses the length of the courtyard, approaching the stately palace entrance.

_Come on_ , she thinks to herself, eying the palace guards in their dark green uniforms and conical hats with some wariness. _I’m right here. Send someone in to stop me, why don’t you?_

As though on cue, a dark-haired woman wearing a bright, placid smile emerges from the doorway to meet her.

“Hello! Welcome to the Ba Sing Se Cultural Center, home to the ongoing mission to preserve our great city’s cultural heritage!” The woman bows deeply. “My name is Joo Dee. How can I help you today?”

_Great. Another Dai Li mouthpiece bureaucrat_ , Jun thinks to herself, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

Instead, she forces herself to return the woman’s smile, albeit with a little less enthusiasm.

“Thank you, Joo Dee,” Jun says politely. “I had a few questions about an artifact that was delivered to me. I believe it to have originated from the palace. Would you – “

“ _Cultural center_ ,” Joo Dee interrupts her delicately, shaking her head as though admonishing a small child.

Jun blinks.

“Excuse me?” she asks, a small furrow appearing in her forehead.

“You said _palace_ ,” Joo Dee corrects in a singsong voice, her bright smile unwavering. “The Ba Sing Se Cultural Center is not a _palace_. It is a _cultural center._ ”

Jun pauses for a moment, sizing up the earnest bureaucrat and wondering how far across the courtyard she could throw her.

“My mistake,” Jun says in a voice of forced calm instead. “ _Cultural center_ , then. As I was saying, I believe I have in my possession an important artifact originating from this _cultural center_.” _Spirits, that sounds stupid_ , she thinks to herself vehemently, before continuing smoothly. “Would you be able to direct me to someone to help me learn more about –“

“All property originating from the Cultural Center is property of the city and its cultural stewards, the Dai Li,” Joo Dee interrupts again, her smile widening. “As such, the item in your possession cannot be an artifact from our center, unless it was stolen.”

_She doesn’t waste any time, huh? Straight to the jugular with this one._

Jun fights to hide her irritation with the imperturbable Joo Dee. Her fist clenches against her better judgment and with all the effort she can muster, she takes a deep breath.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out,” she insists, adding an extra layer of sweetness under the knife thrust tone of her voice. “Whether this artifact was – stolen – or not.”

“It is impossible to steal from the Cultural Center of Ba Sing Se,” Joo Dee states, sounding as though she is reciting from a very boring manual. “Our security is second to none.”

“I’m not _saying_ it was stolen,” Jun says, with the last shred of her patience. “I’m _saying_ that I would _appreciate_ a chance to sit down with a cultural agent to _examine_ this item in question and _discuss_ its history – cultural or otherwise.”

She steps forward, until she is nose-to-nose with the blithe bureaucrat, her own form towering above hers.

“Do you think you could arrange that for me, Joo Dee?” Jun asks, flashing her a very dangerous smile. “I’m sure it would be well worth your while.”

For a moment, Jun thinks she sees something flicker in Joo Dee’s blank eyes. Apprehension, perhaps. Maybe even fear.

Then –

Joo Dee lets out a nervous laugh. 

“Well, of course I can! Why didn’t you say so to begin with? Right this way, then…”

* * *

“Breathe first.”

Iroh paces back and forth at the front of the clearing, thinking hard.

It is the next morning. The four young benders sit side-by-side in a row before him. They are straight-backed and attentive, their faces calm even if their eyes are not.

_They will learn soon enough_ , Iroh thinks to himself.

At his instruction, the four of them begin to breathe, slow deep breaths, rustling quietly in the still morning air.

“Close your eyes and focus on your breath.”

Sifu Aang is a picture of tranquility. With his orange attire, shaved head, and bright blue tattoos, he appears to be quite at home during the meditations.

He shifts his attention over to Sifu Katara. _A force to be reckoned with_ , his nephew had called her, and Iroh does not doubt that assessment. He has only ever witnessed the calm side of her, but he has seen the wheels turn behind those deceptively calm blue eyes and he _knows_ that there is a storm brewing there.

“Sifu Katara, relax your shoulders,” he instructs, stopping by her and touching a hand to her left shoulder. “The breath should collect into the stomach. _Out_ , when you breathe in. _In_ , when you breathe out. The shoulders should not move.”

Katara nods wordlessly and applies the correction.

Iroh nods and walks on.

Sifu Toph had been the most challenging disciple of them all. Given her temperament, consistent with most of the great earthbenders he’s met over the course of his lifetime, he is surprised that she’s agreed to his lessons at all. But he remembers the first time he ever met her, as a runaway back near the hills of Gaoling. As barely more than a child, stubborn and precocious and so very _fragile_.

“Straighten your back, Sifu Toph.” He places a hand where Toph’s back curves outward.

“My back hurts,” Toph complains, but she sits up straighter nonetheless.

Iroh lets out a chuckle.

“It will get easier,” he assures her, before moving on.

His nephew, Prince Zuko, has come a long way. Though Iroh remembers the fiery personality he had when younger, he also knows that nobody works harder than Prince Zuko.

_Time and time again, that has been overlooked. That is probably to his benefit, in ways he still does not recognize. Motivation, talent, ambition, desire – these are weak, fleeting, insubstantial things upon which to build a foundation. But discipline is strong. Discipline is powerful. Discipline endures where all else crumbles._

“You are holding too much tension in your neck, Prince Zuko.” He prods at the muscles, tight on the sides of Zuko’s neck. “Let it go.”

Zuko appears momentarily perplexed, before he complies.

_Good_.

Iroh walks back to his spot at the front of the clearing, satisfied.

“You are doing well. When at last you feel comfortable, I invite you to shift your focus from the breath to the body.” Iroh pauses, watching carefully. “Pay attention to the way it carries you, holds you. When was the last time you thought about it? Where do you ache? Where do you hurt? Where do you carry your tension?”

As he speaks, he sees the slight movements, the little corrections that they make in response to his words. Toph’s scrunched-up face begins to loosen. Aang’s head droops forward a little. Katara’s jaw unclenches. Zuko’s fingers relax.

“Think about all the discomfort you carry,” Iroh continues, beginning to pace again. “Think of all the worldly burdens you have placed upon yourself, willing or unwilling. Focus upon each and every one of them.”

He tries not to pay too much attention to the shifts in expression taking place on each of their faces. It is not his business to guess what’s behind them, what causes them.

“Think about your past. All the events or things that have gone by, but still weigh down on you.”

He pauses, waiting for the words to sink in. 

“Concentrate on your fears. What are you afraid of? What scares you? What are you trying to escape?”

* * *

Toph tries to keep her breathing steady, all while General Iroh’s soft voice echoes in the air.

_What are you afraid of_ , he’d asked.

She fights an outward snort at that.

_What am I afraid of_?

_Nothing_ was the easy answer. The answer everyone expected from her. _Tough Toph, omniscient and invulnerable._ That was how everyone knew her here.

Here, everyone thinks twice before crossing her. People are _afraid_ of her. Hell, people know they can’t even _lie_ to her.

Here, she’s _powerful_. It’s the first time she’s ever felt that way.

Here is the only place she’s ever felt free. Accepted. Like she belongs, like she isn’t a burden, like she has _something to give_.

After a childhood spent in cages – of darkness, obligation, duty, love – she’d only ever _dreamed_ of a place like this. That one day, her earthbending would speak for itself and her blindness would just be a footnote.

_So what am I afraid of?_

Her nightmare comes easily to mind.

“What are you trying to escape?” General Iroh asks, pacing somewhere in front of her.

_Home_ , Toph thinks instinctively. _Dad. Mom. My room._

All the cages she’s left behind.

_Running away from your fears doesn’t set you free_ , Katara had declared. And maybe she’s right.

_But how on earth do you confront a cage? You can’t reason with it, or trick it, or convince it to stop being a cage. All you can do is break it down, and frankly, Dad’s rich enough to build a new one to replace it._

“We all have our demons,” General Iroh speaks again, at length. “Spirits of things long past that haunt our steps and weigh us down. We grow used to them, we build walls around ourselves in fact, because it is easier to adapt than it is to confront them.”

_Easy for you to say_ , Toph thinks quickly. _You’ve never had to confront Dad_.

She has never doubted her father’s love for her. She supposes, underneath all the resentment, perhaps she loves him too. Maybe even misses him.

But she’d sooner die than have to go back and live under his roof. Under his rule.

The thought is not exactly a happy one. Nor is it a new one. But it brings clarity to a heavy cloud of thought that she usually tries not to think about, and surprisingly, it makes her feel a little better. 

“And so,” General Iroh recites, his voice punctuating her thoughts, “we wade in the waters of life with anchors tied to our feet, never knowing that with each step we are drowning.”

* * *

_Drowning._

That is exactly how Katara has felt, every day since she and Sokka were taken from their homes so many years ago. Since everything that had happened in the colonial school. Since Sokka had run away.

Event after event, one by one, weighing her down, suffocating her, threatening to break her if she was anything less than strong.

“But by doing so, we cut ourselves off,” she hears the Crown Prince continue in measured tones, and she fixates on the sound of his voice, letting it calm her. “From the world, from each other. From ourselves and all that we can be.”

She thinks of how much of herself she has lost. How much she’s given up in order to stay strong and _survive_. The Fire Empire had done much more than destroy her family and her home. It had turned her into a bitter, vengeful, remorseless creature, heedless of the damage she caused.

And as she’s come to learn, dividing the world into absolutes – _us_ and _them_ , _right_ and _wrong_ , _good_ and _evil_ – was _exhausting_ work.

“Think of what you have done in the past,” Iroh intones. “What are you ashamed of? What do you regret?”

_Now that’s a loaded question_.

Chan’s battered and broken form, feebly stirring on the ground as she attacked him, easily comes to mind.

It’s amazing how clear the image remains in her mind. Even after everything that came afterward – her reflections, her attempts to reconcile and atone – she just has to summon the thought and she returns back there.

She _remembers_ the sound of his taunting voice and she lives it all over again. The coolness of the water, pliant in her grasp. The sudden, vicious coursing of hot wrath flooding her veins, tightening her stomach, _filling_ her with the need to _kill_. The echo of his screams and his flagging pulse in her ears as she incapacitated and tried to drown him from the inside out, breaking everything in her path until…

Until what?

_Until he died_ , she recalls, her mouth going dry. _I was going to kill him._

It should have been a dispassionate thought. The way she thinks about her other victims. Chan would not have been the first person she killed and, knowing the way the firebenders worked, he wouldn’t have been the last either.

So _why_ , then, does the thought of that day fill her with trepidation and shame?

“And how much of your shame is borne out of something you did out of fear?” General Iroh continues to probe abstractly, as though he is unaware that Katara suspects him of being able to read her mind. “Desperation? Ignorance?”

She feels herself frowning as she considers Iroh’s words.

Chan had never _scared_ her. The thought was laughable.

And she doesn’t regret _attacking_ him, even though she’s long since recognized that doing so was _wrong_.

_Then what do I regret?_

She remembers pummeling his weakening body, forcing the water into him as he’d lain there, unable to fight back. She remembers feeling like an _animal_.

It is painful to realize that she too, is capable of such savagery.

_I don’t regret fighting him. I don’t regret lashing out. But I do regret how far I went. I didn’t have to do that. He had already learned his lesson._

Was it fear or desperation that drove her to do it? She still isn’t sure. But either sounds like a better explanation than it simply being in her nature to do so.

_I’d like to think I’m better than that._

“Would you have done differently if you had known to be true to yourself?” General Iroh questions. “If your actions reflected all the potential you have in you?”

_To be true to myself. What does that even mean?_

Katara envisions a world where being true to herself is not a choice between anonymity and a target on her back. Where being a waterbender is not a curse or an invitation for humiliation or worse. Where being from the Water Tribes was irrelevant.

But so much of her life has been coloured by the colonization of the Water Tribes, that she doesn’t even _know_ what it means, to be true to herself.

_I’ve spent so much time looking over my shoulder, to watch my back. I’ve forgotten how to look forward._

And the frustrating bit is that she _still_ doesn’t know if that would have made her rethink her barbaric attack on Chan. There is no easy answer there. 

“Life is long and life is hard,” General Iroh says. “Even the most spiritually balanced person can be bested by any surprise that life has in store. Every day, we fight battles. Little ones, big ones, groundbreaking ones. Some we will win. Some, we will lose. That is the way of things.” He sighs. “But it is in our nature to question our losses. And so we get caught up in them and lose sight of the end. We get lost in asking ourselves _how_ and _why_ and _what if_ and in so doing, we become small.”

* * *

_Small_.

Zuko cannot remember a time when he felt any other way. Even before he left home, he remembers feeling diminutive and worthless.

“We forget that we are only humble servants on this great earth. Instead, we believe ourselves commanders, leaders.” Uncle Iroh’s booming voice strengthens with each word. “And in our arrogance, we do not accept our losses. Instead, we grieve for them.” He pauses for a moment, and when he resumes speaking, his voice is somewhat gentler. “Reflect upon that. Consider a time in your past, or several, when you failed. Where you lost yourself grieving over your failure. Or something that was outside your control. Over something that was bigger than you.”

Zuko fights the urge to scoff.

His _whole life_ has been spent doing just that. The burden of being born into the royal family, and all of the political overtures it entailed.

But _grief…_ it is as familiar to him as an old friend but at times, he has trouble recognizing it.

He remembers feeling the first pangs when Azula had bent her first flame, at a mere three years old. It was blue.

Zuko still couldn’t firebend by then.

Later still, when he was ten and being presented to the court, his grandfather called upon him to demonstrate a sampling of his prowess. He’d rehearsed the movements day in and day out, driven by the thirst to prove himself, against his uncle’s warnings to wait, that he wasn’t ready.

_I had to do it before Azula_ , he recalls, stillness settling over him like a shroud. _She beat me at everything and I was the older one. I couldn’t wait. Azula was being presented the next day. Nothing else mattered to me except debuting before Azula._

He tripped on his first motion, set fire to the canopy framing Emperor Azulon’s throne, and was laughed out of the courtroom.

Azula debuted the day after him, the youngest member of the royal family to ever do so. His father had stayed up with her, perfecting her firebending routine into the late night.

She was flawless. His father was proud.

_He_ was a joke. His father liked to pretend he didn’t exist.

He always thought it was jealousy that drove his actions over the next few years, lashing out harder and harder, trying to get his father’s attention. To get a _chance_ for his father to smile at him, the way he did at Azula.

Maybe that was what drove him to speak out at that one fateful meeting.

But as he lay in the healing wing in the weeks that came after, and his father didn’t visit him, not once, the feeling that overwhelmed him wasn’t anything new.

_My father never loved me. He couldn’t afford to. In the royal family, power is more important than love. I was weak and he had to cut me loose._

He has spent his whole life trying to digest this painful truth and he still can’t.

“What did you focus on?” Uncle Iroh presses. “And what did it make you think of yourself?”

_What did I focus on?_

All the things he hated about himself. All the things his _father_ hated about him.

His lack of talent. Ambition. Drive. All wrapped up in the angry red scar blooming across his face. The scar he wears as a mark of the unwanted. _The unfit prince._

And when that became too much to bear, he turned his despair into fury.

_Fury_ at his father for discarding him so easily. At his sister for her lack of scruples. At the court for overlooking him at such a young age.

And he channeled that fury into his lessons, into his firebending, until his uncle pronounced himself satisfied with his progress.

Slowly, over time, that fury cooled to a vague ideal of redemption.

_When I go back_ , he’d thought, _my father will welcome me. He will have realized the error of his ways, and will consider me worthy of being his son._

Maybe that was why he had jumped at the chance when he found out that Mai was interested in him. Having a girlfriend was a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil plaguing his thoughts. But importantly, she came from a good family. If she could accept him, maybe his father could too.

And perhaps _more_ importantly, she had been a friend of Azula’s. She’d been one of Azula’s childhood friends, her and Ty Lee. When Azula learned that her friend Mai had done the unthinkable and fallen in love with her estranged, good-for-nothing brother, she had flown into a most impressive rage. He caught Mai quietly burning the letter Azula had sent her in response. They never spoke to each other again. Because of _him_.

Being with Mai had felt a little bit like stealing from Azula. And after all she’d taken from him during their childhood, it felt like revenge.

Thinking about it now makes his skin crawl.

“Did any of it ever make you feel _better_?” Uncle Iroh asks. Zuko _hears_ the rueful smile on his face. “I would guess not.”

Half a life spent in agony and bitterness and self-loathing has made Zuko feel _worthless_. Cheap. Weak. The fruit of his father’s upbringing evident in the way Zuko thinks about himself.

And he doesn’t know how to change that without lying to himself.

There is no denying that in comparison to the rest of his family, he is mediocre and powerless and completely without influence. That is not his treacherous inner voice whispering to him, that is a _fact_.

And there is no denying that this troubles him to the core.

And unless he can somehow convince himself to turn his back on his family and his identity, that will remain a constant thorn in his side.

Zuko is _stuck_. 

“We spend so much of our time wrapped up in _winning_ and _losing_ that we forget about the importance of _learning_ ,” Uncle Iroh states heavily. There is a faint rustling, as he resumes his pacing. “In each loss, there is a lesson to be learned, and in that lesson, a seed to future victories."

* * *

“But such lessons require introspection and time, and it is much more attractive to appear infallible. Or so we have taught ourselves.”

_Infallible_. Aang is familiar with the word.

His childhood, spent up high in a temple atop the mountains. His mentors, the wise monks of the Council of Elders. His companions, a homogenous compilation of acolytes and sky bison and lemurs.

It was easy to believe in your own superiority when everyone looked and talked and believed the same as you.

_We the Air Nomads are apart from it all_ , Elder Monk Tashi had taught them, in one of Aang’s earliest lessons. _We are set apart because we are_ better. _The other nations are petty, greedy, driven by their lust and attachment to worldly things. We were put on this earth to show them a better way._

_Then why don’t we befriend them?_ Aang remembers asking, his curiosity piqued long before his concern. _Wouldn’t it be easier to show them a better way if we were friends?_

Tashi had laughed at that, and patted him affectionately on the head.

_You do not befriend a baby moose-lion, no matter how harmless it looks_ , he’d replied. _Your first responsibility is to yourself. You cannot teach civilization to an animal. It is inherently savage. All you can do is wait for a better time._

And so the Air Nomads thought, and isolated themselves behind their walls atop the mountains and far-flung places.

Except it _wasn’t true_.

_We trade with the Fire Empire_ , Aang pointed out a little while later. _And with the Water Tribes. If they’re so uncivilized, why do we need them?_

Tashi had respond with a giant _harrumph_.

_Because even we require sustenance_ , he answered grudgingly. _Believe me, if we could get by without the likes of_ them _, we would do it in a heartbeat. But even the most savage animal has a purpose on this earth._

What a glorious lie, Aang reflects with no small degree of uncertainty. It was grand in its dismissiveness, its willful ignorance and dissonance.

“Thus, we lie about ourselves, who we are, what we’re like, in order to appear powerful,” General Iroh resumes. “And in so doing, we weaken ourselves.”

Monk Gyatso had said just as much. Sometimes, General Iroh reminds Aang _a lot_ of Gyatso.

_There is strength in difference, Aang_ , he told him during one of their long games of _pai sho_. Monk Gyatso had always appeared older than his years and during some of their later conversations, Aang thought he understood why. _But there is also fear._

Aang never understood why _difference_ scared the monks. His questions troubled the Elders.

_There is a time to ask questions, Aang_ , High Monk Pasang instructed him during a Council intervention. _And a time to be silent, for the sake of the peace. You are stirring up trouble with your ideas._

_What is the point of peace_ , Aang had countered, a stubborn boy newly turned twelve, _if you can’t say what you want?_

“Think about your understanding of _truth_ ,” General Iroh instructs. “How much of it has been taught to you? How much of it have you discovered for yourself? And how much of it differs, one from the other? How can you tell which is true and which is a lie? When others lie to you, how can you tell? When you lie to _yourself_ , how do you know?”

But after spending time in the heart of the Fire Nation, among their army, Aang thinks he understands more.

_At their core, the soldiers of the Fire Nation aren’t that different from the monks of the Air Temple_ , he wrote to Gyatso a short while after arriving with General Iroh. _They believe that their way is the right way. They believe that_ they _are the ones civilizing the earth. But their way is so different from ours._

Maybe that was why Tashi and the rest of the Elders feared the outside world. Because it would mean that they, the Air Nomads, were no longer _special_. They were no longer _exceptional_.

Maybe thinking it was blasphemous, but it is a realization that Aang has never had to fight. It is only of the only facts he knows in his heart to be true.

“People will tell you that deep down, the heart _always_ knows the truth. Perhaps it is so,” General Iroh lectures, his voice growing skeptical. “But even the heart has hopes and dreams of its own, does it not? Even the heart can lead you astray.”

_Violence is the way of the animal,_ Gyatso had written back. _We must teach them to be something more. That is our duty and our curse as Air Nomads._

And so Aang had believed in the righteousness of the Air Nomads, even if he didn’t fully accept their doctrines entirely.

That is, until a troubled girl from the Water Tribes wandered into his life and dashed all of his preconceived notions with a cold splash of water.

_People are going to die_ , she accused, the truth staring at him in the face as obvious as his efforts to deny it, _and whether you strike the killing blow or not, it’ll be because of you. What do your monks have to say about that?_

What _did_ the monks have to say about that?

_The ‘violence of inaction’, as you so put it, is not the same as the ‘violence of action’_ , High Monk Pasang had written back to him witheringly. _The burden of responsibility has shifted. It is not your duty to step into a pack of ravening wolves and stop them from ripping each other to shreds. As ever, we remain above such things._

_Then why do you send Air Nomads to fight for the Empire when they come asking?_ Aang had returned, a new panic gripping him. _I thought we were above such quarrels._

_We are_ , Pasang had answered. _But one does not invite the hordes of hungry wolves to our doorstep. We do what little we can to safeguard the peace._

_Even a monk can sell his scruples_ , Aang learned from that correspondence with a heavy heart, _if it’s politically expedient._

“No, the search for truth in the world is about as challenging as the search for truth in _yourself_ ,” General Iroh resumes. “And you cannot hope to understand the world, messy and chaotic as it is, until you first understand _yourself_. Who are _you_? What do _you_ want?”

Aang wants to live in a world where the truth is consistent. Where believing in the good of _people_ is not a dangerous, politically unstable thought.

But the Fire Nation has built an empire on the myth of the inferiority of other nations, and to his growing dismay, the Air Nomads have done no differently.

The only difference is the use of _violence_ to achieve those ends and now, Aang is not sure whether the Air Nomads’ diligent observance of nonviolence has been kinder.

_If we’d gotten involved sooner_ , he wrote to Gyatso most recently, his troubled mind keeping him awake into the small hours of the night, _if we had a relationship with the Fire Emperor and spent the time instructing those people at court, maybe they would have known better. Maybe they would not have been so destructive with the Water Tribes. Maybe my friend would still have a home and a family._

_Perhaps,_ Gyatso had written back, kindly. Gyatso had always seen the world with clear eyes. Gyatso had been the one who recommended him to join the army and participate in General Iroh’s project. _But there is no way to know for sure. They could just have easily have ignored us too._

“But this is not something that can be achieved in a day. In fact, this is not something that may ever be achieved in a _lifetime_ ,” General Iroh concludes. “Truth is not a locked door and spiritual discipline is not a key. As always, the answer is _within you_. Meditation is only a light that can illuminate the path ahead and help you find it.”

_There is no point in focusing on what might have been, Aang_ , Gyatso continued in his most recent letter. _You must strengthen your heart and your resolve for the days ahead of us. For the peace is unsteady and the Council of Elders has noticed. They are making plans for the days to come. You must be ready._

General Iroh takes a deep breath. 

“When you are done reflecting upon all this,” he commands, “you may in time open your eyes.”

* * *

“How do you feel?” General Iroh asks with a faint smile. “Calm? Restored? More confused than ever?”

“Is it possible to say _all of the above_?” Zuko mutters, rubbing at his eyes with a fist.

General Iroh beams at his nephew.

“If you were listening to what I was saying,” he says kindly, “you know my answer is _yes_.”

“It could have been worse,” Aang mutters to himself. “At least there was no onion and banana juice.”

“But…” Katara objects hesitantly, “I thought this was supposed to help us become _stronger_. Confront our fears and our weaknesses. But all we did was –“

She trails off, shrugging.

“All we did was think about old stuff,” Toph complains, taking up where Katara left off. She crosses her arms. “You just spouted a load of waffle without actually telling us _how_ to do anything about it.”

General Iroh chuckles.

“Before going into battle,” he explains, “do you rely on the vague accounts of others when it comes to understanding your foe? Or do you study your enemy closely, learn everything you can about them, so that when the time comes to face them, they are less than the reputation that preceded them?”

He scans the four hapless students in front them, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his nondescript brown robe.

“It is not so different from what we have done today. When you think of all the burdens you carry with you, your first reaction is to shut down. To run away. To let the problems intensify until they seem bigger than anything you can face. Today, I sought to change that. Today, you deconstructed your demons one by one, separated the facts from the fictions you built.” He holds his palms out helplessly. “It would be irresponsible of me to suggest to you that you could relieve yourself of all burdens just by meditating for a day. As I said earlier, this is a tool to a lifelong practice. In _time_ , you will learn how. It is not for me to teach you how to conquer yourself. That, you will learn to do on your own.”

“And what about our bending?” Aang asks, somewhat boldly. His pale face is flushed. “When do you think we’ll be able to bend again?”

General Iroh eyes him appraisingly for a moment. He raises a hand to stroke his beard in thought.

“A fortnight,” he says at last. “Provided you show up every day and follow my guidance without fail.”

“That’s not so bad,” Aang concedes, looking around at the others. Zuko and Toph nod in reluctant agreement.

Katara has other concerns.

“You mean I can’t _heal_ for two weeks?” she demands. “Wouldn’t that be putting Chan back into danger?”

“Healer Jia tells me that Chan has regained consciousness,” General Iroh tells her kindly, “and that much of the damage in his lungs has been healed. She assured me that she would be able to treat him and keep him stable while you embark in this exercise.”

Katara appears doubtful.

“She promised that if he was to demonstrate a sudden decline in health, she would send for you immediately,” Iroh continues. “And if that was the case, I would not object if you had to use your bending in such an emergency. Does that sound fair to you, Sifu Katara?”

She nods, apparently satisfied.

“But how is this supposed to make our bending stronger?” Toph queries, still unconvinced. “I mean, it’s very nice of you, trying to solve all my problems and stuff, but we’re here to _bend_. I still don’t see the relevance.”

“Don’t worry, Sifu Toph,” General Iroh assures her. “Soon enough, you will.”

He squints, glancing at the position of the sun in the sky, and claps his hands together.

“Can you believe that it is already lunchtime? Go, feed yourselves, take a break, and return back here in one hour. Thanks to music night tonight, we have a shorter afternoon than usual –“

“ _Music night_?” Toph echoes suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

Beside her, Zuko claps a palm to his face, muffling a sound that sounds suspiciously like a groan. 

“Yes, Sifu Toph. _Music night_ ,” Iroh elaborates, and there isn’t an ounce of humour in his expression now. “It is a tradition I take very seriously, and it is _compulsory_ for everyone, including you. So take your break and hurry back here on time, because we are on a tight schedule and I have a great deal to teach you about the _chakras_ …”

* * *

“…on top of that, it sounds _stupid_ , do we really have to go?”

It is late in the evening and the sun has disappeared below the horizon. The sky is lit with bands of brilliant orange and pink and pale blue in its wake, but overhead, the stars begin to twinkle as one by one they flit into appearance.

Katara barely has time to appreciate them as she traverses the well-worn path from her quarters to the canteen’s front lawn, one hand clenched into a fist at her side, the other wrapped firmly around Toph’s wrist. Her bone flute, unearthed from the bottom of her satchel, is tucked into her belt almost as an afterthought.

“General’s orders, Toph,” she says briskly, leading the blind earthbender along the walkway. “Music night is compulsory, after all.”

She is fairly certain that even without her seismic sense, Toph could still navigate her way through the campsite as well as anyone else there. But better safe than sorry, and orders were orders, _and_ if it weren’t for her insistence, the girl probably would still be bending at this moment.

So, she feels some small measure of responsibility.

_Small_.

“ _Music night_ ,” Toph sniffs disdainfully, rubbing beneath her nose with her free hand. “What the _heck_ am I supposed to do there? I can’t play anything if I can’t see!”

“Maybe he expects you to sing,” Katara suggests, her voice uncharacteristically mischievous. “With that lovely voice of yours.”

She smirks at the look of utter horror that crosses Toph’s face.

“If that loopy old man thinks that _he’s_ going to get _me_ to _sing_ ,” Toph declares stubbornly, “it will be the _last thing he ever hears._ ”

“Don’t worry,” Katara reassures her as they round the bend and the evening bonfire roars into view, “you can always just clap along, I expect.”

Toph sniffs again and mutters something under her breath. Katara doesn’t listen too carefully, but she thinks she catches the words _Grandpa_ and _losing his mind_.

“Whoa, careful –“

Katara grabs Toph by the shoulders and halts her in her tracks, preventing her from walking straight into Mai.

“Sorry about that,” Katara says apologetically as Mai turns her head imperiously to face the two of them, an eyebrow raised fractionally. “She – couldn’t see you,” she finishes rather lamely.

“That’s usually the case, I thought,” Mai answers, her unsettlingly pale eyes scanning over the two of them coolly.

“Yeah well,” Toph speaks up brashly, her face turned roughly in the direction of where Mai’s voice comes from, “we’re working with some new orders now. You can take it up with Grandpa if you have a problem with it.”

Mai’s eyebrow raises even higher.

“I don’t understand,” she says flatly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Katara says quickly, awkwardly, feeling incredibly and increasingly uncomfortable in the presence of Mai’s stolidly calm demeanor. “I’m keeping an eye on her –“

“I,” Mai says slowly, her pale eyes meeting Katara’s blue ones freely, “wasn’t _worried_.”

Katara blinks.

“My mistake,” she answers steadily. She swallows, clearing the lump in her throat that she didn’t realize was there until it disappears. “Of course you weren’t.”

“Of course,” Mai echoes, and she looks away. There is a plaintive little smile playing across her thin lips. “After all, I’m not like _you._ ”

Katara frowns at the undisguised scorn in Mai’s voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she parries, only a little defensive.

The smile on Mai’s face widens fractionally as she returns her gaze, and the effect is more unsettling than it is reassuring.

“It _means_ ,” she emphasizes slowly, “that I’m not like you.”

She gives Katara a lingering once-over, her gaze somehow contemptuous and wistful at the same time, before she turns on her heel and walks away.

Katara lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“What the _hell_ was that?” she splutters, indignation overwhelming her. “What did I ever do to that girl? _Spirits_ , I swear she _hates_ me or something!”

“Nah,” Toph dismisses Katara’s outburst with a serene wave of her hand. “Looks more like jealousy to me.”

“ _Jealous_?” Katara lets out a bark of laughter. “ _Her_? Of me? That’s crazy! What makes you say that? She has _everything_. And I’m –“

_Just a nobody,_ she finishes quietly.

Toph lets out a sigh.

“Sometimes, you’re blinder than I am, Sweetness,” she observes, shaking her head.

“How am I blind? I don’t get it. Am I missing something?” Katara complains. “You’re so candid with everything else, Toph, don’t hold out on me now.”

Toph pats Katara on the shoulder, a strangely comforting gesture.

“Don’t worry about it, Sweetness.” She leans her head against Katara’s arm. “It’s not that big a deal anyway

But Katara remains unsatisfied.

“How about,” she tries again, “you _tell me_ , and I can decide _for myself_ if it’s a big deal or not – 

“Sifu Katara! Sifu Toph!” booms General Iroh’s voice over the din. Katara stops midsentence as the Crown Prince approaches them. He is dressed in red velvet trimmed with gold brocade, but wears his plain brown cloak over top. Tucked against his left arm is a giant brass horn. A few paces behind him stand Zuko and Aang. “We’ve been waiting for you! Come, sit – is that a flute I see, Katara? Excellent, excellent…”

* * *

Zuko’s head hurts.

For the last hour, he’s been sitting dutifully at his uncle’s side, watching the evening bonfire roar, stomaching the cacophony of discordant instruments warming up in anticipation of one of General Iroh’s _music nights_.

Uncle Iroh alternates between blowing a deep, melancholy dirge on the brass tsungi horn and belting out raucous love ballads in his slightly warbling voice. Next to him, Aang beats at an animal-skin drum with a pair of mallets, striking up an impressive rhythm that only slightly clashes with Uncle Iroh’s voice.

It is no wonder that the insides of Zuko’s head are fit to burst.

“Where are Katara and Toph?” Uncle Iroh inquires, looking around with a frown. “I told them to be here.”

“Knowing Katara, she _would_ have been here by now,” Aang replies thoughtfully. “But she probably had to fight Toph tooth-and-nail to get here.”

Zuko privately agrees, and when the pair of them turn up unannounced a quarter of an hour later, Katara’s fingers are tight on Toph’s wrist.

_Guess Aang was right_ , Zuko notes inwardly, his eyes lingering on the waterbender against his better instincts. She’s wearing the blue robe, as she always does, and even though it’s only a few weeks old, it’s already getting a little worn. She guides the blind earthbender carefully, attentively, and when Toph nearly walks into Mai, Katara is quick to pull her out of the way.

_So dutiful_ , _so loyal_.

To his surprise, Mai doesn’t walk away from them but instead lingers. He watches them exchange words – perhaps pleasantries, perhaps something more substantial? Mai is impassive as usual, Toph is defiant, Katara torn between politeness and confusion.

Something stirs in his gut as Mai glares at Katara in a way only he truly recognizes.

_What is she telling them_?

And when Mai turns her head away from Katara and toward _him_ , her pale gaze catching his across the length of the lawn, her eyes are amused.

Zuko flinches. Mai’s thin smile widens imperceptibly.

Then she turns back to face Katara, her posture a little straighter. She says something. Katara’s face falls.

_What does she want from me? And why is she taking it out on Katara?_

Mai walks away, all triumph and poised confidence.

Zuko stands up.

“Where are you going?” Uncle Iroh inquires.

“Katara and Toph are here,” he says, nodding his head toward where they stand at the periphery of the lawn. Katara appears indignant, Toph curiously nonchalant.

“They are?” Uncle Iroh’s face lights up as he spots them. “Well spotted!”

To Zuko’s dismay, he too gets to his feet.

“Quick, before Sifu Toph has a chance to run off again!”

Zuko lets his uncle lead, at risk of drawing attention or appearing too eager.

“ _Sifu Katara! Sifu Toph_!” Uncle Iroh greets them warmly, still holding his tsungi horn awkwardly. “We’ve been waiting for you! Come…”

His uncle’s words wash over him vaguely as Zuko studies Katara’s face. She appears a little ashen, a little unnerved, but otherwise unperturbed. Toph on the other hand, is being uncharacteristically affectionate toward her, and that worries him.

He falls in step with the two girls as they follow Uncle Iroh back to where he is seated by the bonfire.

Katara gives him a small smile. Toph scrunches up her face at his approach.

“Is that you, Sparky?” she asks, frowning.

“It is,” Zuko answers with a nod, wondering briefly if Toph is _actually_ not using her seismic sense like she’d promised. “How did you know?”

Toph shrugs.

“You walk funny.” She grins. “I can hear it.”

“Oh.” He wrestles with the next words brimming on his tongue. _What did Mai say? Did she bother you? Did she threaten you?_

But Katara, perceptive as ever, speaks first.

“Are you okay?” she asks him, her face alert.

“I am,” he replies, a little too quickly, a little too defensively. He trains his eyes on hers, willing himself to pick up on anything _strange_ , anything at all. “Are you?”

Katara appears surprised by his query, and she opens her mouth to speak.

“ _Come on, Katara –“_ calls Aang, seated behind his drums, “ _we don’t have all night_!”

“Coming!” Katara calls back, and she glances tentatively at Zuko. “Sorry.”

Zuko shakes his head.

“It’s okay. Go ahead.”

She smiles at him apologetically, and turns to face Toph.

“Toph, are you –“

“I’ll stay here with Sparky,” Toph tells her breezily. “You go have fun, Sugar Queen.”

Katara glances at the two of them uncertainly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Toph sings, wrapping her hand around one of his. “Sparky isn’t a singer. He can look after me, no problem.”

“It’s fine,” Zuko mutters to Katara as she looks at him questioningly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well…” Katara trails off. “Okay, then.”

“ _Katara_!” Aang’s voice calls again.

“ _I said I’m coming_!” Katara barks in reply, before shaking her head. “ _Spirits_. Thank you, Zuko. Toph, _behave_. I’ll be back.”

And she rushes off.

“ _Toph, behave_ ,” Toph imitates in a high-pitched voice, before she scowls. “I’m not a _child_ and she’s not my _mother_.”

“There are worse things,” Zuko points out, not unhelpfully.

“You’re probably right. And hey, Sweetness is probably a better mom than _mine_ ever was, so there’s that.”

Toph allows Zuko to lead her away from the bonfire, back to the periphery, where they are out of earshot.

“Toph,” Zuko begins wearily once he’s sure no one can overhear them. “What did Mai say to you guys?”

Toph’s face suddenly appears very smug.

“Oh, you noticed, did you?”

“Cut the crap, Toph,” Zuko warns her in a low voice. “I’m not _her_. I don’t buy the innocent, helpless blind girl act. What did Mai say?”

“I’m pretty sure _she_ doesn’t buy it either,” Toph says leisurely, picking at the undersides of her fingernails. “But I think it calms her down, having someone to take care of –“

“Now you’re avoiding the question,” Zuko points out. His anxiety swells. “Was it that bad? Did she threaten you two or something?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Sparky,” Toph sighs, and that annoyingly smug look is back on her face. “Your ex-girlfriend is harmless. She just got in our faces a bit, said some stuff, and walked right off.”

“Said some stuff _like what_?” Zuko demands suspiciously, his nerves on high alert. He remembers that look Mai sent him, knowing and triumphant and full of fire. “Toph, Mai has powerful family connections. I need to know if she’s trying to target you or –“

“Oh, give it a _rest_ , will you?” Toph yawns dismissively. “ _Target_ us? She knows just as well as you do who my parents are. She may be a governor’s daughter but the _Beifong_ name goes back a long way.”

“Your parents don’t know you’re here, Toph,” Zuko tells her quietly. “If you get on the wrong side of her, Mai might take it upon herself to change that.”

“She’d do _no such thing_ ,” Toph bristles. “Get on the wrong side of her? Who do you think you’re talking about? She isn’t some wily, scheming political grandmaster, Sparky. She’s a just a girl who misses having her old boyfriend around. _That’s all._ She’s blowing a lot of hot air because she’s _jealous_.”

Her words hang in the air between them.

“Jealous,” Zuko echoes, his voice cautious. “Why?”

Now Toph crosses her arms and gives him a piercing stare, made all the more unsettling because he knows she can’t actually _see_ him.

“You tell me,” she challenges him.

_She knows._

Zuko gapes at her.

“I –“

He’s suspected that Toph _knows_ , or at least has _guessed_. He’s even been bracing himself for an uncomfortable confrontation or two about it with her. But Toph, brash and bullish as she is, is also loyal to him, in her own way. He’s never had to worry about her betraying his confidences – not to her roommate and certainly not to the wrong sort of people.

But _Mai_ knowing – guessing – _suspecting_ , probably – is another thing entirely. Mai is unscrupulous, with no great love for Katara and, of late, no great loyalty to him. Worse still, even before she was his girlfriend, she was a confidante of _Azula’s_.

Suddenly, he is very worried.

“Whatever it is that you’re figuring out, I don’t really care,” Toph continues, unaware of the mental struggle unfolding in Zuko’s mind. “You like her, she likes you, who gives a shit? _I_ don’t. But other people are starting to notice, and maybe _they_ do.” Her voice drops, unusually gentle. “So be careful, Sparky.”

His heartbeat pounds an echoing rhythm in his ears. Across from him, Toph appears concerned.

“Thanks for the warning,” he says at last, his mouth dry. “I appreciate it, Toph.”

In the past, he has never known where he stood with her. Not exactly. But as the blind earthbender inclines her head gruffly, it strikes him that perhaps this is _it._

In this moment, they are _friends_.

“And – and what did you mean, _she likes you_?” he blurts out, the rest of Toph’s words processing through his mind belatedly. “Do you _know_ something or are you just jerking my chain?”

Toph’s face splits into a wicked grin.

“Sorry, Sparky. My lips are sealed." 

“Oh, _come on_ …”

* * *

After trying and failing for an hour to pry more from her, Zuko finally gives up.

“You’re the absolute worst, do you know that?” he tells her brusquely.

“Yup,” Toph replies, unscathed.

“I’m really wounded, you know. I thought we were friends. I thought we had an understanding.”

“Of course we are and of course we do,” Toph answers briskly. “The understanding is, ‘No using our friendship to blackmail each other’. Works like a charm.”

“I’m not _blackmailing_ you,” Zuko points out, his voice growing petulant. “I just think you’re withholding valuable information, and you’re more loyal than that.

Toph whistles.

“Wow, Sparky. That’s a low blow, coming from you. Are you sure you want to go there?”

Her teeth are bared in a feral grin.

Zuko reconsiders.

“No,” he admits. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Attaboy,” Toph says reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it. If there’s something to talk about…she’ll talk about it.”

“Will she, though?” Zuko sighs, his voice skeptical.

Toph shrugs.

“I don’t know. I’m not her.” She shakes him by the shoulder roughly. “It could be worse. She could still hate you. At least she _talks_ to you now. That’s an improvement, to say the least.”

“You’re right,” Zuko agrees. 

“Of course I’m right. Now stop pouting and get it together.”

* * *

It is later into the night that Zuko spots his chance.

Ty Lee, stumbling out of the circle of dancers rotating by the great bonfire, joins them at the edge of the lawn.

“You guys have just been sitting out here the whole time?” she asks, bug-eyed. “You’re missing out on all the _fun_!”

“I think we’ll decide for ourselves what _fun_ is, Circus Freak,” Toph retorts with a grimace.

“If you want,” Ty Lee concedes in a placating voice. “So according to you, what is _fun_?”

Toph shrugs.

“Not _that_.” She points at the scene before her: the roaring bonfire, the slightly out-of-tune band led by General Iroh’s booming tsungi horn, the circles of dancers who are out of rhythm and out of sync with each other.

Chaos.

“Quit being such a wet blanket, Toph,” Ty Lee pouts, jamming her hands on her hips. “You’re too young to be such a granny.”

Toph lets out a belly laugh at that.

“Are you calling me an old lady, Circus Freak?”

“Why,” Ty Lee flutters her eyelashes innocently, “why _yes_ , I am. You’re just going to have to prove me wrong, now.”

Toph grits her teeth.

“I don’t have to prove _anything_ to you,” she insists stubbornly.

“I get it,” Ty Lee sings, a grin spreading over her face. “I do. It’s okay, it must be hard to come and dance with everyone else when General Iroh’s forbidden you to bend. I _understand_.”

Zuko inhales slowly through his teeth as Toph’s face mottles to an impressive shade of purple.

_Challenge set._

“ _You’re on_ ,” Toph growls, thrusting out a hand for Ty Lee to take. “Sparky, hold down the fort. _I’ll_ be back.”

_And challenge accepted_ , Zuko thinks to himself wryly as Ty Lee leads Toph into the dancers’ circles.

His eyes wander back to where the band sits, on rows of benches piled up against the wall of the mess hall. His uncle is singing a ribald ballad about fireflies in spring. A couple of seats over, Aang and Katara are engaged in some sort of odd competition. They take turns: Aang pounding out an increasingly complicated rhythm on the drumskins, Katara responding with quickening trills of greater and greater complexity. Her eyes are closed in concentration and her fingers move over the carved holes deftly, and he watches the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes in time to the music.

With some effort, he turns his gaze away, realizing he’s been staring.

A flush jumps to his cheeks as he remembers Toph’s earlier warning.

_People are starting to notice_.

He scans the crowd, spotting the subject of his concerns almost immediately.

Quietly, he moves to intercept her as she makes to leave the chaotic scene behind them.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, his voice rasping quietly in the night.

Mai turns her head slowly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

“I didn’t think it’d be any of your concern,” she replies coolly.

“Mai,” he sighs. “Just because I broke up with you doesn’t mean I don’t _care_.”

She raises an eyebrow at that, but he’s piqued her curiosity by now, probably in spite of her better instincts.

“Is this the part,” she asks as she turns to face him, her hair and red silks swishing soundlessly, “where you try to convince me that _we can still be friends_?”

She smirks.

Zuko is taken aback, but holds his ground nonetheless.

“That’s up to you,” he says to her. “If you want.”

A moment of silence descends upon them, punctuated only by the sounds from the band echoing behind them.

“Gee,” Mai says sarcastically, crossing her arms across her chest. The motion is less defensive and more defiant. “That’s a generous offer. But – no thanks.”

Zuko is on edge now. In all the time that he has known Mai, he’s been able to _understand_ her. Her anger, her indignation, her listlessness, _everything_.

But this new, detached condescension is strange to him. It unsettles him.

“I understand,” he forces himself to say, feeling a sense of foreboding wash over him, as though he and her are both standing on the edge of a great big precipice and any wrong word could send them hurtling over.

“Do you?” Mai cocks her head to the side. “I don’t think so.”

Zuko swallows slowly. Her pale eyes are fixed on him.

“I think I do,” he offers, but worry starts to fray at the corners of his mind. “You don’t owe me your friendship. I was the one who hurt you. If it’s too hard, then –“

“I don’t _want_ to be friends,” Mai cuts across him crisply. “Okay? It’s not about _want_ or things being too _hard_ , I just _don’t want_ to be friends. Spare me your pity, I don’t want it. I have my own friends now, I don’t need you.”

And there it is, the elephant in the room. The thing that’s been tickling his worries all night long.

“ _Your own friends_ ,” Zuko echoes, meeting her pale gaze with his own. It doesn’t take a genius to guess her meaning. “Azula.”

Mai doesn’t reply.

Zuko can’t verbalize why this worries him to the core.

“You’re corresponding with her now, aren’t you?” he ventures carefully, knowing that at any moment, he could set her off.

Mai tosses her head imperiously.

“What does it matter to you?” she asks him scornfully.

“You said you were done with her,” Zuko reminds her gently. “After you told her about us, you – you said you _couldn’t_ stay friends with her after what she said about you.”

Mai’s face is unreadable.

“That was a long time ago,” she says at length. “If things could change between you and me, I don’t see why they couldn’t for me and Azula. She’s one of my oldest friends, you know.”

“She _insulted_ you.” Zuko’s voice is stronger now, disbelieving even to his ears. “ _And_ your family. She said that you had to choose, her or me, and –“

“I’ve made my choice,” Mai says flatly, and her face is set. “Now I have to live with it, not you.”

“Don’t trust her,” he warns. He doesn’t mean for it to sound like a plea, but it does. “Don’t –“

“Azula is _my friend_ ,” Mai whispers, outraged. “Who are you to say otherwise?”

“I grew up with her, Mai. She’s my _sister_.” Zuko chances a step closer, willing her to listen. “I know her.”

“You haven’t seen her in _years_ ,” Mai scoffs. “You don’t _know_ that anymore than I do.”

“People don’t change, Mai,” Zuko insists wearily.

“Oh?” Mai steps up to him too. “They don’t, do they? Then, I suppose you’re always going to be a coward and a traitor. Azula is always going to be the stronger of the two of you. And keeping that in mind, _I_ have to decide what is important to me in life.”

He closes his eyes.

_She won’t listen._

“She uses _everybody_ ,” he forces out at last. “Even if she’s your friend. In the end, she’ll use you too.”

Mai glares at him and for a moment, he knows his words have struck a nerve.

“Go chase after that waterbender,” she dismisses him witheringly. “And leave me _alone_.”

She marches away without a second glance back.

Zuko closes his eyes and sighs.

But there is not much to reassure him.

_If Mai knows, then sooner or later Azula will too._

Toph’s voice echoes in his mind again.

_Be careful, Sparky_.

Zuko opens his eyes.

She’s right after all. He’s been careless.

In a time where members of the royal family are being picked off one by one, where alliances appear to be shifting and lines are being drawn in the sand, he _cannot_ afford to have it known that he –

_What? That you lust after a lowly waterbender? That you think about her all the time? That you’ve fallen so far for her that you have lost all sense of direction or purpose that doesn’t lead back to her?_

His heartbeat is steady in his chest.

_Emperor Azulon could breathe his last breath any moment. Ozai sits by his side, consolidating support among his court. Azula is probably tapping any support she can gather to his side. Why else, after all this time, would she welcome Mai and her family back into the fold? Iroh and Lu Ten have the might of the military and the will of the people behind them. What do you have? You can’t even bend lightning yet._

He’s just a loose end that, eventually, would need to be tied off. And if he’s lucky, his father or Azula would scarcely deem him worth the effort. The most he could expect would be a silent killer in the night, a blow to the heart while he slumbers.

Why anyone would bother with the effort to dig up slanderous material against _him_ is beyond his understanding. Maybe it’s his paranoia speaking, his overstated sense of self-importance. Maybe it’s the years he spent living in the palace as a prince of the Fire Empire.

But if Azula got wind that _her brother_ , whatever relation he had with the rest of his family, was pining after a common girl from the Water Tribes…

He swallows nervously, trying not to think about what Azula would do about that. To _him_. Or worse…

He imagines what it would feel like, to learn that Katara got hurt or _worse_ , just because of how he felt about her. That after all she’s been through, all she’s capable of, in the end, it’ll be because of _him_ that she’ll have a target on her back - whether she realizes it or not.

_I can’t have that_.

Zuko clenches his fist surreptitiously.

_I have to protect her._

Even if it means keeping his distance. Closing himself off. Pushing her away.

The thought of it makes his heart hurt. But that’s not important, he resolves.

Keeping her safe is.

* * *

**author's notes.** i know i know, a whole new part and nothing really happens. i found it tedious too. BUT character development and plot pieces are moving, which will be important later on.

and i'm very sorry if the meditation boot camp parts dragged. BUT meditation is pretty boring, lbr. and unlike the way it was portrayed in the show, it felt inauthentic and unrealistic to suggest that all the baggage that team avatar carries with them could be magically fixed by clearing the chakras...once...the very first time... these things take time to overcome :/

i hope the next chapters move a bit more quickly, but we'll see. they kind of have a life of their own.

anyway, let me know what you think! we're entering the dog days of the story, so every bit helps!


	18. falling so slow (pt. iii: gravity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Iroh tells a story. He finds it amusing. Zuko and Katara disagree.

**disclaimer.**  atla & all associated content belong to bryke, i gain nothing from writing this but brownie points and self esteem.

**author's notes.**  aaand we're back with another one! after a vacation and some unanticipated technological fuckery, i  _slaved_  over this part to make up for the delays. the result is this rather lengthy, very angsty, and altogether lacklustre instalment.

following some questions i've gotten not infrequently, i'd like to clarify a few things:

1) in this universe, the avatar was killed in the avatar state many generations ago (like, hundreds to thousands of years ago). people only vaguely know of the avatar as a myth. this information appears at the start of chapter five.

2) as the cycle was broken, characters that we know from canon as previous avatars were simply born as regular benders. aang is just an airbender, roku before him was a firebender, kyoshi before  _him_  was an earthbender, etc. so, they  _existed_  but they weren't avatars. (this information appears in snippets throughout chapter two and nine)

3) because aang was not frozen in an iceberg for 100 years and appears as a teenage boy, the air nomads are the same age as they would have been if aang hadn't run away (obviously). thus gyatso and the other elderly monks would be about the same age as (or a bit older than) iroh and pakku.

hope that clears things up!

a giant thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! watching some of you read so carefully (and make  _very_  good guesses about what's coming up next) is such a daymaker!

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter xviii.**  falling so slow  _(part iii: gravity)_

* * *

_i know this isn't what you were wanting me to say_  
_how can i get closer and be further away_  
_from the truth that proves it's beautiful to lie_

"reservations"/ wilco

* * *

"Easy, Nyla," Jun cautions, reigning in the anxious shirshu and bringing her to a halt. "I'm going to be a while. Wait out here for me. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Nyla pulls her lips back over her teeth in an unquestionable grimace.

"I know, I know," Jun soothes, swinging off the shirshu's back and rubbing her hand against her mane affectionately. "This is a crappy part of town and the view sucks. But what can I say? I'm on a mission, and so are you, I guess."

Nyla whimpers and scratches at the ground, kicking up dirt and gravel.

"Ugh." Jun shakes her head and reaches into her satchel. "Every single time. I'm spoiling you, do you know that?"

She tosses a sizable chunk of dried meat at the jittery shirshu. With a snap of her teeth, Nyla stops whining and begins to slaver instead.

"Good girl." Jun pats Nyla's stringy fur. "Stay  _here_. I'll be back."

Nyla doesn't reply as she chews at the tough jerky.

Jun shakes her head and sighs as she walks away from the stable and into the dilapidated old bar. It is a seedy establishment, serving cheap beer in dusty mugs and greasy snacks on dirty dishes. The peeling walls and splintered, stained wooden benches housed an unsavoury crowd of pickpockets, gamblers, and general lowlifes. She catches the glint of daggers tucked away, available at a moment's notice, and the clatter of coins on the countertops as people place bets. Walking through the crowded aisles, she eventually makes her way to the back of the room and sits at her spot by the bar.

"The usual?" calls the bartender from where he stands, wiping at a cloudy glass with a damp rag.

"That would be great, Wei," Jun answers with a nod. She runs a hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face and behind her ears as Wei walks over with a tankard of foaming ale and sets it down in front of her.

"Thanks." Jun nods and picks up the tankard.

"Anytime," Wei returns, with a smile that reaches his eyes. "Good to see you, Jun. Haven't seen you around here in a long while."

Jun shrugs and takes a deep sip of her ale. It is dark and nutty and slightly spicy.

"I've been busy," she offers in turn. "I have to go where the bounty is, you know?"

"Don't I know it," Wei replies with a snort, resuming drying his glassware from where he stands across from Jun. "Seems like the marks are all disappearing further and further from town. The last few weeks, my bar's been overrun by  _complete strangers._ "

"Really?" Jun sets down her drink. "How so?"

"Damned if I know." Wei shrugs. "But they're all strange types, you know? From out of town more often than not. Wealthy too, looks like. Now why folks with money would drag their feet through my watering hole is beyond me, you know?"

"Mm." Jun thinks hard. "How do you know they were out-of-towners?"

"You think I can't tell my folk from these outsiders?" Wei bristles. "Look around you, Jun. These gold coins they're gamblin' are way too shiny to be from hereabouts. They talk funny too." The bartender scans the floor before dropping his voice. "Most of them don't do no harm though, they're quiet and just passing through. But some of them are  _looking_  for people."

"Looking for people?" Jun repeats, her brow furrowing. "You mean bounty hunters?"

"Looks like it, except I didn't recognize any of them," Wei confesses, looking worried. "Crime don't scare me, Jun, you know that. Any place down here wants to turn a profit, you learn to look the other way. Be discreet, you know? But when the usual suspects start to vanish and new guys come in from outside to take their place? Mite unsettling for a small-time guy like me."

"I'll bet," Jun muses, picking up her tankard again. She pauses for a moment, weighing her next words carefully.

"So what brings you back in this corner of town?" the bartender asks. "Not that it isn't a pleasant surprise, seeing your pretty face 'round these parts."

She senses her opening and takes it.

"I was actually hoping to run into some of the usual suspects," she answers carefully. "I guess you haven't seen them around lately?"

Wei shakes his head slowly.

"Afraid not. Been more than a few weeks now, I'd say."

Jun frowns.

"That…is odd," she comments. "No one?"

"No one," Wei repeats, a hapless look flitting over his features. "You're welcome to stick around and look. After all if you're back in town, it's not impossible that the others could come back too."

"It's possible," Jun comments, pursing her lips. She shrugs. "But could you keep an eye out for me? I'll be around for the next little while and it's…important to me."

Wei's eyes widen.

"Well, I can definitely keep my eyes open for you," he acquiesces, nodding his head. "If I hear or see anything, I'll let you know. Which of the usuals are you trying to find?"

"You haven't seen Lee around lately, have you?" Jun asks conversationally.

Wei shakes his head.

"Not for a while, I'm afraid. But he goes out to the country for months at a time, don't he? I expect he'll be back sometime or another."

"Right," Jun comments. She glances around, trying to make sure nobody is eavesdropping. But the bar is noisy enough to drown out her words.

She lowers her voice anyway.

"What about Jet and his freedom fighters?"

The room goes quiet.

* * *

Every morning, the four of them rise before the sun.

By the time dawn has painted bands of bright orange and pink and pale blue along the horizon, they have assembled in the clearing by the river, seated side-by-side with their eyes closed and minds trained to focus, General Iroh's soft voice the only sound that punctuates the silence.

"Think about yourself. Who are you? Who are you  _now_? What about in the future? Who do you  _want_  to be? And what separates the two?"

He continues to ask questions until the sun is high overhead. Sometimes he even goes until the night falls.

They have learned by now to not complain when he does.

* * *

Every day is a new lesson, a new exercise, a new frontier.

By now he has instructed them in the placement and function of the bodily chakras. He has taught them how to sense them, how to feel for blockages. How different emotions choke different chakras.

He tells them he cannot teach them how to clear them, but can only guide them.

"I could no sooner teach you how to conquer your basest instincts," he explains, to their dismay. "To transcend guilt, fear, shame, anger, greed… To look past the lies we tell ourselves, the illusions the world places before our eyes – many a spiritual master has sought in vain to overcome such mortal tribulations."

He sighs and shakes his head.

"To clear your chakras is a process as unique as you yourself are. No one of you is the same as the other, and the demons that haunt you are likewise. Even among the spiritual masters, there is disagreement. The Air Nomads would argue that detachment is the best way to enlightenment. But I disagree with that. How can you confront the troubles in this world by running away from them? Better to face things and accept them as they are, no? What is the purpose of pain but to make us stronger for suffering it?" He shrugs. "But an Air Nomad would argue that only distance and time truly make the world's burdens small. Who is right and who is wrong? The answer, as always, is for you to find and you alone."

Aang frowns through Iroh's words, but says nothing.

* * *

Every day, Zuko sits as far away from Katara as he can reasonably excuse. His interactions with her are oddly distant and short, his words reduced to the bare minimum.

The others try not to notice.

Katara pretends that it doesn't hurt. But to her surprise, it does.

* * *

By week's end, they have learned how to guide themselves through the meditations.

General Iroh's questions reduce to a handful of prompts.

* * *

Every now and then, if their sessions end early, General Iroh invites the four of them back to his tent later that night for a game of pai sho.

None of them are brave enough to refuse him outright.

Toph, however, finds no shortage of reasons to retire early.

* * *

Inexplicably, she always makes Aang walk her to her room.

* * *

"Is there something going on there?" General Iroh inquires one evening, the fifth in a row that Toph has dragged Aang out of the room with her.

"I have  _no clue_ ," Katara confesses, her eyes wide and her face confused. Her voice drops to a hush. "Toph has a type and Aang is  _not_  it."

Zuko just presses a hand to his forehead and says nothing.

"What do you think, my nephew?" his uncle inquires, turning his mischievous gaze onto him.

As though on cue, Zuko stands up.

"I have a headache," he says dully. He nods his head at his uncle, and then curtly at Katara as well, as short and meaningless a gesture that he can make. "Excuse me."

" _Again_?" Iroh asks, somewhat incredulously as Zuko makes his way to the door flap and pushes it aside.

As the curtain flutters shut behind him, Katara's voice, lowered to a hush but still somehow miraculously audible to his ears, echoes behind him.

"Did I do something to offend him?"

His heart sinks but he walks away anyway.

* * *

"Before you have a chance to develop yet another mysterious headache, my nephew," Uncle Iroh remarks airily one evening, as the door flutters shut behind Toph and Aang, "I have some news that might interest you."

Zuko starts, and his face colours only slightly at his uncle's thinly veiled jibe.

"What is it?" he asks, alert for the first time that evening.

"It's about your cousin. My son, Prince Lu Ten." Uncle Iroh's face breaks out into a large smile. He glances at Katara, and then at his nephew before continuing. "I have just finalized his betrothal to the only daughter of the Mao family."

Zuko's eyes widen as Katara offers her congratulations.

"You did? How did you manage that?" he asks bluntly. "The Maos are a very old and proud clan."

"Let's just say your uncle knows how to negotiate," Uncle Iroh replies slyly, but he beams nonetheless. "Bringing the Maos into the fold is something no one has ever achieved before. Needless to say, everyone is very happy with the match."

"What about Lu Ten?" Zuko asks, his face still somber. "Is he happy too?"

Iroh shrugs.

"I suppose so. Why wouldn't he be?"

Zuko falters but makes himself speak anyway.

"The Mao girl – he's never met her. He doesn't even know her. He's marrying a complete stranger."

Even for royal alliances, that strikes him as odd.

But Uncle Iroh laughs heartily.

"That is probably for the best," he admits jokingly. "After all, nothing is surer to nip romance in the bud than actually getting to  _know_  the person!"

Zuko pauses, considering his uncle's unusually snide remarks and wondering whether he's been going about this all wrong.

_Maybe instead of keeping my distance from Katara, I should actually learn as much as I can about her_ , he reflects with no small amount of irony.  _Then I'll find something I hate about her and that'll be the end of that._

"That's not true!" Katara protests, and both Zuko and Iroh turn their heads to face her. Even she looks surprised at her outburst, but endeavours to continue doggedly. " _My_  parents were always honest with each other and they fell more in love with each day, not less."

_So much for that thought, then._

Uncle Iroh appears taken aback by her declaration.

"Were…" he hesitates, and Zuko understands why, because she  _never_  talks about her parents,  _ever_ , "were your parents an arranged match, Sifu Katara?"

The realization hits her at that moment as well. She falters for a moment, fighting to choose her next words very carefully.

"They were," she answers softly, her voice barely a breath of sound, and she's fighting bravely to keep the unsteadiness from it.

Uncle Iroh strokes his beard in thought.

"That's very unusual," he remarks thoughtfully. "I was under the impression that people in the Water Tribes married for love. Unless it was for strategic purposes."

"That's right," Katara acquiesces, her voice a little stronger now. "It isn't that different from what you do. I'd guess that your common people marry for love too, don't they?"

Iroh's eyes widen.

"Well, I would suppose so. To be honest, I don't really know…" He trails off. "But even among the common people, marriage has always been about power, long before it was about love." He raises an eyebrow. "But I assume that was not the case for your parents?"

Katara shrugs defensively.

"It was a political match," she explains. "But my mother and father were so different from each other, they didn't get along  _at all_  at the beginning of their marriage." Against her better instincts, she smiles and her face lights up as she remembers it all. "Dad had a very traditional mindset, and Mom couldn't have been any more different. They clashed a lot when Mom told him that she wasn't going to stay home and look after the kids, the way women were expected to back then. She wanted more from life than to just be a dutiful wife and mother." She clears her throat. "Dad wasn't too impressed, but  _Gran-Gran_ ," she breaks off with a chuckle, "Gran-Gran backed her up. See, my grandmother grew up in the Northern tribe and over there, it was  _really_  backwards for women and my grandmother didn't want any of that. So she ran away and made her home in the South and well – she was really impressed by Mom's ideas. So, what else can you do when your wife and your mother team up against you? Dad caved. In the beginning people thought he was crazy, but over time, they learned too." She takes a deep breath. "And because they were honest with each other, in time, they respected each other and  _loved_  each other. And Dad learned to be a better person, and together with my mother, they made the Southern tribe a better place - for women and for everyone else, too."

She breaks off from her rambling narrative, pauses, and shakes her head slightly.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, clearly embarrassed. "I guess I got carried away…"

"No," General Iroh corrects her. "Don't be. That was quite a story. Wasn't it, Prince Zuko?"

Zuko feels like he's got a spotlight shining on him as his uncle fixes his mild amber gaze upon him.

"It was," he forces out, trying not to look at Katara and see the glow on her face, the pure joy that grips her from talking about her parents because it's  _not fair, it's not,_  that her parents, who loved her and treated her so well, are dead and gone while  _his_  are still alive. He'd give anything to trade, but what a useless thought that was.

There is  _nothing_  in the world he can give her that can put  _that expression_  on her face, and it  _isn't fair._

"It is curious, however," Uncle Iroh remarks and even though his expression is calm, there is an alertness that catches Zuko's attention and puts him on his guard, "the type of marriage your parents had, and the sheer  _influence_  that they had in what you described was a relatively unstructured community…"

The glow disappears from Katara's face, to be replaced by an immediate darkening tension. Her posture stiffens as the General continues.

"Your father would have had to be a chieftain," Iroh concludes lightly, casually, as though discussing something trivial like the weather or tomorrow's breakfast. "Would he not?"

There is no other way to describe it. Katara appears unnerved at best, shell-shocked at worst, at Iroh's simple deduction.

_That was some trap_ , Zuko notes wryly, his eyes scanning the pieces on the board before him, now abandoned for a continuation of the game at a higher level.  _She didn't even see it coming. Poor girl._

Katara's jaw works slowly as she weighs her next move carefully.

"He was." She cedes the point grudgingly, reluctantly. "But – that didn't really mean anything. There were loads of chieftains in the South Pole, it was fairly unstructured –"

"I am aware," Iroh acquiesces, nodding his head. "I had the fortune of attending an all-chieftains' summit in the South Pole, many years ago. The community was structured rather loosely, I thought, and the hierarchy somewhat limited compared to what we have in our nation's Imperial Court. But even so, I would hardly argue that a chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe was  _unimportant_." He tilts his head to the side, and asks the question that Zuko  _knows_  he has been  _waiting_  patiently, shrewdly, calculatingly all this time to ask. "Who was your father, Katara?"

To her credit, Katara fights to keep her face neutral and expressionless. She mostly succeeds too. Only her eyes, wide and blue and roving across the surface of the wooden table in tiny staccato jumps, give her away.

Zuko can only imagine the tactical dilemma going on in her mind.  _To lie or tell the truth?_  Although, he can't imagine what danger revealing her parents' names to his uncle would entail. As she's insisted time and time again, she's a  _nobody_. Her tribe is gone and so are her parents, and lineage is not something to stand on in her culture anyway.

_So, why hesitate if there's nothing to hide?_

The light goes out in her eyes just a fraction of a second before her shoulders slump in what she knows is defeat.

"Hakoda," she mutters at last, exhaling sharply through her teeth as though saying the name is painful.

It probably is, too.

Zuko has never heard the name before, so to him the admission seems somewhat anticlimactic. But as he turns to observe his uncle's reaction, he can see that the same cannot be said for Iroh.

"Your father was Hakoda?" General Iroh asks sharply, his eyes widening. " _The_  Hakoda?  _You_  were his daughter?"

If Katara had appeared shocked before, that is  _nothing_  compared to the expression that spreads across her face now.

"You know who my father was?" she asks apprehensively, wonder mingling with fear in her words.

" _Know_?" Iroh repeats, somewhat incredulously. "Why - he was the  _most powerful_  chieftain in the Southern Water Tribe at the peak of its influence. Surely you must have known that."

Katara's gaze drops and she fidgets somewhat uncomfortably.

"I didn't know what to think," she confesses at last, and for the first time since the conversation started, she looks  _sad_. Zuko wants to curse his uncle for bringing the whole sorry affair up. "I was so young when he - and I thought Sok - I mean, I thought people were just exaggerating about how great he was. Making up stories to get through the bad times that came afterward. I barely remember him and I didn't think any of it was true. And even if it  _was_ , he's not around to help us at any rate, so what's the point?"

_Forget sad_ , he thinks.  _She looks miserable._

And he can't blame her. Not at all. In fact, this miserable, apathetic sullenness is a side of her he's never seen.

"My apologies, Katara," Uncle Iroh says gently. "I - forgot - that this must be a difficult subject for you to talk about."

Zuko can't help but wonder if his uncle is being sincere with his condolences, or if this is yet another calculation.

"But for what little it's worth to you now, your father was a great leader. In his time, everyone regarded him with immense love and respect. To this day, I have encountered many a tribesman - both Northern  _and_  Southern - who still remembers him with reverence. His name still  _means_  something, even after all these years of bloodshed and division... And Kya - she was indeed a formidable woman, just like you described." He inclines his head, while Katara slowly raises her gaze to meet his. "It does not surprise me that you are their daughter."

Katara doesn't blink and when she inhales, her breath is shaky.

"You sound like you knew them," she forces out, her words an accusation.

Iroh closes his eyes and nods.

"I met them once. A very long time ago, when I attended the all-chieftains' summit. Back when the Water Tribes and the Fire Empire were still on diplomatic terms and negotiating an alliance. Your father presided over the deliberations and afterward, invited me as an honoured guest in his home." He opens his eyes and smiles at a flabbergasted Katara. "He and your mother had just welcomed a child. Their second, after their infant son. A daughter."

The silence that follows his words is deafening.

" _Me_?" Katara breathes in disbelief, her jaw dropping. "You mean  _me_. You've -  _we've met before_?"

"That appears to be correct," Iroh agrees, and the wonder of the situation is not lost on him. "Your mother wasn't so much older than yourself at the time. You look so much like her - I admit, I  _wondered_  if there was a connection but I never thought…"

"I had no idea…" Katara murmurs breathlessly. "I can't believe it. You  _knew_  my parents. You stayed in their home.  _My_  home. You...this is so weird."

She presses her fingers to her forehead, as though trying to make sense of it all.

Uncle Iroh laughs.

"It is quite a coincidence, isn't it?"

"Forget  _coincidence_. I have  _so many questions!_ " Katara realizes, her eyes opening wide. "Why were you there? And why were my parents so important to you, anyway? What were they like back then? Did they still hate each other? Was that back when Dad still had his weird moustache?"

Uncle Iroh looks surprised for a moment before he lets out another laugh, deeper this time.

"It is not my place to say if it was  _weird_  or not," he says affably, "but he did have a moustache, yes."

" _Eugh_ ," Katara shudders. "It bugged Mom so much, the day he shaved it off was one of the happiest days of her life. Not mine at first, I couldn't recognize him and cried whenever I saw his face."

"That is quite common among young children," Uncle Iroh allows, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Why,  _my_  son Lu Ten  _hated_  my beard for the longest time when I started growing it out. He eventually got used to it, but that was one of the hardest tribulations of my life!"

Zuko fights the wry smile that threatens to spread across his face.

Truth be told, he feels like he's stumbled across something  _private_ , something precious and secret that he has no right to witness. Watching his uncle and Katara laugh and reminisce over a shared past that they didn't even know they had until minutes ago was…

_Nice_ , his mind whispers to him, even as he tries to force the thought away.  _It's really nice._

Sometimes it's hard to separate his uncle from the shrewd and disarmingly cunning General Iroh that everyone else sees. But here, as they exchange their stories and as his uncle begins to good-heartedly answer Katara's numerous questions, he  _feels_  as though -

_What_?

The feeling of  _rightness_  that settles over him as he observes it all - the glow on her face, the lines forming in the corner of his uncle's eyes as he laughs - is inexplicable to him and yet -

The sensation, unfamiliar to him as it is, is blinding in its simplicity.

He's  _happy_.

Here, in this moment, he is not brooding about his past or dreading what the future holds. He is not resentful of his sister, wary of his father, fearful for his life and the mysterious faceless enemy targeting him. He doesn't ruminate on the myriad ways that he's failed himself, that his  _existence_  is a waste of potential, he doesn't think of any of that.

He is simply here, in the moment. And in this moment, he feels  _happy_.

It beggars belief but it's true.

"And as for why I was there," Uncle Iroh says heavily, as though the words carry a great burden. He sighs. "I told you before that the Fire Empire and the Water Tribes were on diplomatic terms back then. We were negotiating a...change of terms."

"Why?" Katara asks, furrowing her brow in confusion. "What kind of change? What for?"

Iroh shrugs.

"It was not my place to probe too deeply. From my understanding, your father and the other chieftains had a long-standing non-aggression treaty with the former Earth kingdom and with the Fire Empire, as well as several trade agreements. To retain Water Tribe sovereignty in the face of the Empire's expansion, you understand. And it suited their purposes for a very long time. However…"

"Something changed," Katara guesses, and her face is alert now, hearing the story perhaps for the first time and simultaneously fascinated and horrified by it. "Those agreements weren't enough to maintain the peace?"

Iroh nods slowly.

"I told you before, Katara. Slowly, the citizens of the Empire began to grumble. Long years of infighting and taxes and tributes, combined with an unprecedented period of famine, meant that under the existing terms of their agreement, the Water Tribes found themselves...vulnerable. To trade shortages, undermining of their sovereignty, attacks even…"

His voice trails off.

Katara does not remember any of this. All she remembers are the arguments and the slow preparations for battle in her tribe.

"So what happened?" she asks sharply. "What did my parents do?"

"Your father was the head chieftain of the South Pole at the time," Iroh explains. "And he saw where the wind was blowing. He saw that their current situation would lead them to a dark place. He sought to change that, Katara. He brought all of the other chieftains on board - from the south  _and_  the north - yes, I know," he pauses to acknowledge the wonder spreading across Katara's face. "It was an unprecedented display of leadership and unity, the likes of which has never been seen in the Water Tribes. But Hakoda knew that if the Tribes wanted to survive in this post-Empire world, there would be a price to pay for it. You cannot maintain freedom without risking your safety, and in the face of a much larger, stronger adversary, Hakoda decided that the Tribes could afford to give up a little bit of their freedom."

Katara's gaze sharpens.

"He wanted to surrender," she realizes flatly.

"Not exactly," Iroh corrects her. "But he  _did_  see the sense in strengthening ties with the Empire. An alliance. The Tribes would enter the Empire as a protectorate of the Empire, similar to what the former Earth kingdom experienced under the rule of Sozin. They would pay their taxes to the seat of the Emperor, send a portion of their young men to fight in the army. And in return, they would be protected, fed, developed. Represented at court with a stronger voice than their current ambassador could provide. It was not a bad deal."

"The other chieftains would  _never_  have agreed to that," Katara comments grimly. Her lips are pressed together tightly.

"Many didn't," Iroh admits, nodding his head sadly. "Several from the northern tribe, in fact. They withdrew from the negotiations, convinced that their far-flung location was protection enough. But the rest - Hakoda managed to convince them that it was time to  _evolve_. Just because something had been one way in the past didn't mean it was right for the  _present_  and certainly not for the  _future_."

"Mom used to say that," Katara recalls, her eyes misting over.

"Either way, it caught their attention. As the Heir Apparent, I was sent to treat with Hakoda and the other chieftains," Iroh explains. "We had been in contact beforehand regarding other matters of state. And my father wanted to send a message to the Tribes - that we were serious about bringing them into the fold. After all, Hakoda wanted the same thing we did." Iroh smiles grimly. "Peace in the empire."

"So what happened?" Katara presses, the colour draining from her face. "Where did it all go wrong?"

Iroh sighs heavily.

"My brother happened," he says bitterly, and Zuko feels his skin beginning to crawl. "My father and I chose the wrong time to initiate his career in diplomacy." His voice grows dark with regret. "It was a straightforward task, we thought. The terms were  _agreed upon_  already. All he had to do was sign the wretched thing and declare the alliance." He rubs at his forehead. "But  _no_ , he had to go and decide to show  _initiative_ , for Agni's sake…"

"Terms?" Katara frowns. "What terms?"

Iroh shrugs.

"Details of trades, taxes, resources, that sort of thing," he says vaguely, before his face brightens somewhat in amusement. "Oh, and how could I forget - there was a betrothal too."

Katara blinks.

"What?" she asks.

"Well, didn't we just talk about how marriages were about consolidating power? Take this for example." Iroh casts a sidelong gaze at his nephew before his face turns sly as he relishes his own personal joke. "To seal the alliance between his people and mine, Hakoda and I thought a marriage would be appropriate.  _But between who_? Hakoda didn't want to relinquish his only son to a foreign land, and I was inclined to agree. But he had a daughter -  _never underestimate the value of daughters_ , I've always said. So we decided, Hakoda's daughter would do, but for who?" Katara's back stiffens as Iroh continues to recount his tale with increasing mirth. " _My_  son was a bit too old for her and as much as we wanted to bring the Water Tribes into the picture, it would have been inappropriate to betroth the Heir Apparent's only son to the daughter of a chieftain. No,  _he_  would have to wed for considerable strategic advantage  _within_  the Fire Nation. However…" and here he grins, "I did have a  _nephew_  that was suitable for the job -"

Katara and Zuko exchange a look of mutual horror before it fully hits them.

" _What_?!" they chorus as the realization strikes, torn between disbelief, shock, and embarrassment. As though in unison, they avert their eyes and uncomfortably inch away from each other in their seats.

" _Him_?" Katara cries, her face flushing an impressive shade of purple. "You guys wanted me to marry  _Zuko_? Are you  _kidding me_?"

"I'm not," Iroh insists, and now he is shaking with laughter. "I probably have it in writing somewhere back at the palace."

For once, Katara's indignation doesn't fill Zuko with despair. In fact, he empathizes with it because -

"You wanted me to marry  _Katara_ ," he echoes, his outburst rivalling her own. "Like I was just -" he pauses, the details crystallizing in his mind and becoming more upsetting by the second. " _I was still an infant_."

"Not exactly an infant," Iroh clarifies, still looking highly amused. "The negotiations went on for years afterward - it took Hakoda quite some time to unite the chieftains, you see. The betrothal was  _discussed_ , of course, but only really finalized near the end, maybe a few months before your father got involved and the polar wars started. You would have been about eight, nine, maybe ten years old -"

"When I was a  _child_ , then." Zuko's tone is a knife thrust, and he doesn't even know what part of the revelation upsets him the most. "You - you just wanted to gamble with my life, like I was just a  _thing_  to you. And now you're doing the same thing to Lu Ten -"

The amusement slides off of Crown Prince Iroh's face instantly.

"How do you imagine your father and I were wed?" he counters, his voice like thunder and unusually harsh. "Do you think I got to pick and choose who I married? Do you imagine for a  _moment_  that your mother and father got a say in the matter? We did what we were told and when the time comes, so will Lu Ten. And Azula.  _And you_." He crosses his arms and sternness radiates from him, in stark contrast to his usual gentle demeanour. "Being born into the royal family means accepting your duty to your country, whatever it takes."

Zuko's breath hitches in his throat. Uncle Iroh's words are like a knife to the heart, twisting and stabbing with each passing second.

He has always  _known_  that somewhere in the distant future, an arranged match has awaited him. But with each passing year away from court and his increasing acceptance of his irrelevance in the line of succession, he's somehow managed to fool himself that perhaps he would  _never_  return home. Perhaps he'd be able to choose for himself and escape the princely duty of marriage and siring royal children. Perhaps no one of importance would want to marry their daughter to a disgraced, exiled, unimportant prince - not unless they wanted to mould him to their expectations and ambitions, like Mai - and he, miraculously, would be able to live a life of his own choosing.

But Uncle Iroh's words have thrown cold water on that vague, unsubstantiated idea, exposing it for the hollow, feeble delusion that it is.

At the end of the day, blood is blood and as long as Iroh has the throne in his future, Zuko knows that a return to court life and all its shackles awaits him.

Against his better instincts, he casts a fleeting sidelong glance at Katara, who still appears indignant and outraged, but also stricken.

He feels his heart shudder at the cold reality of it all, the impossibility of her and him  _ever_  -

"Anyhow," Uncle Iroh continues reassuringly, consolingly, perhaps misreading Zuko's silence as incredulity or maybe even youthful, petulant resistance, "it is not so bad. My late wife and I learned to love each other, and I see even Sifu Katara's parents were able to do the same. It is possible to breed joy from duty, with enough time and effort." He intercepts the glance that Zuko sends Katara, and he raises an eyebrow. "I am still not entirely convinced that you two would have been miserable with the betrothal."

And there it is, the incredible, uncomfortable,  _unbelievable_  heart of the whole matter.

Zuko is not sure if the choking sound filling the air is coming from him or from Katara. Maybe both.

He  _makes_  himself stay very still, his eyes resolutely fixed on his hands and his face  _completely_  expressionless. He  _can't_  give himself away.

_He can't._

He therefore misses the strange, soft expression that flits across her face. But when she looks at him, he can  _feel_  the weight of her gaze - perhaps trying to catch his eye and gauge what he's thinking, perhaps assessing him and coming up with a list of all the ways he falls short in her expectations for a future partner -

"But there's no point speculating about it, because it doesn't matter now," his uncle dismisses the weighted subject with a wave of his hand. The regret returns to his voice. "Ozai barged in and thanks to  _him_ , all of Hakoda's hard work - and mine, for that matter, went up in flames with the rest of the southern tribes."

And of all the tragedies unearthed from Uncle Iroh's revelation, Zuko thinks he's stumbled across the  _real_  one.

He tries and fails to stop himself from envisioning a life where his father  _hadn't_  allowed himself to get carried away with his ambitions. A life where Zuko grew up back home, loved by his parents. Admired by his sister. Respected by his countrymen. A life where  _Katara_  was able to grow up in the South Pole and remember her parents properly and  _be happy_.

He imagines a life snatched from him by his father's long, dark shadow, where his grandfather informed him once he came of age that long ago, he'd been betrothed to the daughter of the Southern Water Tribe's chieftain and that they were to be wed. He imagines being miserable at the prospect of spending a long life together with her.

His stomach twists at the one and only possible chance of everything working out, shattered beyond repair. Just another dream for the future among countless others, dashed to pieces by his father's cruelty.

"He probably wasn't too happy at the thought of losing his only son to some commoner from the Water Tribes," Katara muses at length, her face and voice solemn but her mouth somehow inexplicably,  _miraculously_ , quirking up at the corners. Like she finds the whole thing  _funny_ , like it's a joke...

"But you weren't  _some commoner_ ," Iroh interrupts. "You were  _Hakoda's daughter_." His voice grows quiet as he pauses, clearly distracted by some new thought or other. "You still are."

Katara shrugs.

"Like that makes a difference now," she points out, and her voice is flat and sullen once again. "Dad's been dead for years and whatever's left of the Water Tribes up north wouldn't really take to a woman…" She clears her throat and shakes her head. "Like I said, lineage isn't so important to us."

"Then what is?" Uncle Iroh inquires, frowning but clearly lost in a web of thoughts.

"Strength," Katara answers bluntly, shrugging again. "I guess it really wasn't that different from you guys and your court."

"I suppose," Uncle Iroh allows, and the smile he gives her is very kind. "But I think you underestimate yourself, Sifu Katara. I can't imagine many other Tribesmen out there who could best you in a fight."

"There are other types of strength," Katara points out delicately.

"All the same," Uncle Iroh presses, and he gives her a searching look. "You should consider your options carefully before making any decisions. You will not be here forever, after all."

Katara sighs and her face closes off.

"Maybe. You're probably right." She stands up. "I'm tired. All this talk of the past and uh-" she pauses, gesturing vaguely, "it...it's a lot to take in."

"Of course," Uncle Iroh concedes understandingly. "We can easily continue our game some other time."

Katara nods her head at General Iroh and turns to the fireplace. She grabs a wooden torch hanging on a sconce by the mantel and lights it.

"Prince Zuko," his uncle calls him, and Zuko snaps out of his reverie. "Where are your manners? Aren't you going to offer to walk Sifu Katara to her room?"

Zuko feels the trap snapping shut around him as Katara, nearing the door, freezes in her tracks.

"I…" he fumbles for an excuse, anything, "I thought...wouldn't she rather be alone right now?"

His question hangs in the air, not dangerous, not impudent, just…

Uncle Iroh turns to face Katara where she stands, her face obscured from Zuko's view. He raises his eyebrows. "Would you rather be alone right now?"

Katara turns on the spot to face them. Her face is still inscrutable.

"Not really," she replies carelessly, with another shrug. "But if Zuko doesn't want to, that's fine."

Her voice is cool.

Zuko lets out yet another exhale between his teeth, before intercepting the expectant gaze that his uncle sends him.

Cursing his uncle to Agni for his meddling, he admits defeat and gets to his feet.

"It's no trouble," he forces out with a sigh. "Let's go."

* * *

They walk away from General Iroh's pavilion in silence. The moon hangs overtop of them, past its fullness and already starting to wane again. The night is cloudy, and the light shifts around them, accompanying the lively flicker of the torch in Katara's hand.

As they round the bend in the path and are well out of earshot, Katara turns her head to face Zuko with a scowl.

"Why are you avoiding me?" she asks him directly.

It takes more effort than Zuko would care to admit for him to keep walking blithely, to pretend to be ignorant.

"I'm not avoiding you," he mumbles, not meeting her gaze.

"Bullshit," Katara scoffs, clearly unconvinced. She stops in her tracks, jamming her free hand on her hip as he walks past her. "You're a lousy liar, you know that?"

Zuko lets out a heavy sigh and pauses as well.

"Was it me?" Katara persists, misunderstanding his silence. "Did  _I_  do something wrong?"

Zuko places a hand to his forehead and shakes his head.

"No," he sighs again, wearily.

"Then  _what_?" she presses insistently. "What's wrong, Zuko? Why…?" and here, her voice falters because here they are again, on this strangely inconsistent border of what feels  _right_  and what feels  _good_  and what feels  _inappropriate_ , shifting beneath their feet without any regard for sanity or reason.

She pushes past it and tries again.

"...why are you shutting me out?" Her voice drops. "I thought we were trying...I thought we were  _friends_."

She sees Zuko stir at the last word.

" _Friends_ ," he echoes, sounding like he's coming from very far away. "I thought so too. I thought we  _could_  be. But -"

" _But_?" Katara's eyes have narrowed now. "But what?"

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that by now she has recognized to betray his agitation.

"I don't know." His voice is so quiet, Katara has to take a step closer to hear it over the night air. "It's...it's a lot harder than I thought it would be."

The admission catches Katara completely off-guard.

To her surprise and horror, she feels  _hurt_  by it.

"What?" she stutters. "Why?"

Zuko closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I don't know," he mutters, and his voice to her ears sounds miserable. "It's...it's complicated, okay?"

Katara raises an eyebrow at the word.

" _Complicated_ ," she repeats after him, sounding the word out skeptically. "Complicated  _how_? Like...like befriending someone who's nice enough but whose father killed your parents and destroyed your home and deliberately ruined your childhood, and  _then_  finding out that if that all hadn't happened you might have ended up  _married_  to him?"

Her voice by the end has risen sharply.

Zuko turns his head to face her at that.

"Not quite," he relents.

"Then…" Katara is struggling and she doesn't know  _why_. She can't fathom why it should matter to her at  _all_  whether Zuko wants to be friends with her or not, only that it  _does_ , it does make a difference in some bizarre, inexplicable way. "Then  _what_? What's going on? I...I don't understand."

"You don't have to," Zuko tells her bitterly. "Okay? You just have to accept it."

He begins to walk away, but Katara isn't ready to let go.

"Like  _hell_  I do," she spits out, and at this point even she is surprised by her conviction. She rushes to catch up with him. "Look - we haven't been trying this friends thing for very long, Zuko but - but -" the words come tumbling out of her mouth, without a second thought, "I  _know_  you. I know what you're like. You wouldn't just walk out like this without…"

"A reason?" Zuko finishes for her sardonically. "Well, I know  _you_  but you gave me even less when we first met."

His words are like a cutting blow. Katara stumbles backward, unsure of when exactly she'd given him the power to hurt her with a statement like that.

"Is  _that_  what this is about?" she whispers. "You're just - trying to get  _even_  with me now?"

"I'm not trying to  _get even_ ," he counters wearily. "All I'm saying is - is -" his voice gives away and he winces before forcing himself to speak, as though it's a great effort for him, " - it's  _tough_  for me too. Okay? I know you want to be friends and I suppose I do too but - it's a lot to take in - you used to be  _so angry with me_  and…"

"And I ruined it," Katara says flatly. Guilt pools in the pit of her stomach. "Is that what you're trying to say? That it's all my fault?"

" _No_ ," Zuko insists, exasperated. "That's not what I -  _Agni_ , this is going  _nowhere_  -"

"That's because you're talking in circles and  _confusing_  me," Katara retorts.

"You can't just be friends with someone overnight after hating them," Zuko explains, and his voice is tired, defeated, sad. "Okay? That's why it's complicated. And...it's weird, having you on my side and being nice to me and…"

He trails off uncertainly.

"Do you -" Katara hesitates with her next words now, because she's not sure if she wants to hear the answer at all. "Do you just not like me, Zuko? Is that it?"

He inhales sharply, as though the suggestion wounds him to the core.

" _No_ ," he insists stubbornly.

"Okay." Katara wavers now, momentarily stunned by the relief that floods through her at his admission. "Okay so...you don't  _not_  like me and you want to be my friend, and I want to be  _your_  friend because I guess I like you too, but there's too much baggage from...from before and you need more space? Is  _that_  what you're trying to say?"

"I…" Zuko runs another hand through his hair. "I guess so."

"Well, why didn't you just  _say so_?" Katara demands, shaking her head. " _Spirits_ , instead of being all brooding and quiet and mysterious, why couldn't you  _tell me that_?"

The most curious expression spreads over Zuko's face, as though he'd never heard of such a thing.

"I don't know," he replies at last, somewhat evasively. And then, as though against his better instincts, he mumbles, "I didn't want to hurt you."

Katara scoffs again before marching right up to him and punching him squarely in the upper arm with her free hand.

" _Ow_ ," Zuko complains, rubbing his arm. "What was that for?"

" _That_ ," Katara declares hotly, "is what you get for trying to protect me. And hurting me anyway. See how that works?"

"No," he says blandly, before continuing to massage his arm.

"I'm  _serious_ , Zuko." The levity disappears from her tone and she fixes him with her piercing blue gaze. Her voice is fierce. "Don't try to protect me. I can take care of myself, I don't need you to keep me safe. Do you understand?"

Zuko opens and closes his mouth, momentarily speechless.

"I understand," he mumbles at last, still sounding miserable.

" _Good_." Katara's eyes soften. "So...uh...where does this leave us?"

Zuko's shoulders slump.

"I don't know," he admits.

"But," and here she raises an eyebrow again, "I'm following your lead. If  _you_  don't even know -"

"Why do you even  _want_  to be friends?" Zuko cuts across her, his voice taking on that strange darkness that she's heard once or twice before. "If it's so complicated for you?"

Katara frowns at him.

"I told you," she replies patiently. "You're - you're different from the others. And - if I'm going to move on from all this, I have to start somewhere."

"That's an awful lot of effort," Zuko challenges her stubbornly, bluntly, the self-loathing returning to his voice. "What if you're wrong about me? What if I  _am_  no different?"

Katara eyes him directly.

"Then you wouldn't be here with me," she tells him softly. "You'd still be sitting in your uncle's tent, finishing up that game of pai sho like you wanted."

"You only think that because you don't know my uncle as well as I do."

Katara pauses again as they reach the doorway of her room. She turns to face him, studying him closely in the firelight. And for the first time does she really  _see_  him, as he is.

It strikes her then, just how  _sad_  he looks. She'd always thought of it as a borrowed affect - the same way that Toph acted brash and tough and unassailable, but was completely different under that facade.

It's never occurred to her until now that  _maybe_  Prince Zuko is exactly as sullen and miserable as he appears.

"Zuko?"

"Mm?"

She hands him the torch.

"What's  _really_  going on?" she inquires, looking him right in his averted eyes. "Are...are you okay?"

His hand closes around the wooden shaft and she lets go. He doesn't answer her.

She hesitates, wondering if she even  _has_  the right to pry anymore.

But he speaks up at last, surprising her.

"Do you ever wonder," he starts, his words barely rising above a whisper, "about what could have happened? If...if things were different…"

His question takes her by surprise. Whatever she had been expecting him to say,  _this_  was a far cry from it.

She realizes then how little she really does know him. How poorly she reads him.

"Zuko," she says softly, but firmly, "if I started thinking about the past and...and how everything went wrong and  _what if_  they hadn't…" her throat closes up and she swallows, attempting to compose herself again. "No," she begins again, more directly. "No, I don't. I couldn't afford to."

Zuko is silent, perhaps contemplating her answer.

"You're probably right," he sighs.

She hesitates again, before her curiosity gets the better of her.

"Do...do you?" she asks tentatively.

He looks up to meet her eyes.

"All the time," he confesses.

"But...but why?" Katara stammers in confusion. "Why would you  _do_  that to yourself?  _Spirits_ , if I did that I'd…" she pauses, thinking, "I'd lose my  _mind_."

Zuko shrugs.

"You'd have to really hate yourself to keep doing that," Katara points out.

Once again, her words are greeting by an unreadable silence. Zuko's eyes fall to the ground again and she  _wonders_  if she's taken a stab at the truth.

"You don't...do you?"

He lets out a small scoff at her words.

"Don't you think I should?" he asks her scathingly. "You heard my uncle. You know what my father did. You were right about him, he's a  _monster_. And his blood runs through my veins - what if I'm no different? After all, even after everything he's done, I -"

His voice breaks off abruptly.

"You what?" Katara prompts him, trying not to let her curiosity overwhelm her and  _certainly_  not trying to remind him that it was  _he_  who had, not many minutes earlier, asked for space.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"You  _hate_  him?" she guesses, carefully watching for a reaction, a shift in expression,  _anything_. "You  _love_  him?"

She  _sees_  the change come over him at that. The guilt, the resentment, the self-loathing...everything he's been tiptoeing around, trying to avoid, all of it comes crashing back.

"My father was a monster and I can't even hate him for that," he mumbles. "What does that say about me? After everything he's done - to  _you_ , to your  _people_ , to  _me_  even, and I...a part of me  _still_  wants to forgive him, can you believe that? How...how can you want to be my friend?"

Katara stays very still. Truth be told, she feels out of her depth again, as she does whenever she sees  _this side_  of Zuko. She wonders what someone else would do if he confided in them about it. Surely his uncle, or even  _Mai_ , for all her cold bluntness, would have known what to say.

"Well," she begins at length, testing the waters. But Zuko doesn't seem as adversarial or defensive as he had the  _last time_  they'd had a conversation like this, and so she presses forward, searching for the right thing to say. "Not too long ago, I  _didn't_. As you recall. But…" she frowns, trying to put it all into words, "but I guess I learned that people are complicated. And good people do bad things all the time, and bad people can do good things, and sometimes, it's not enough to be  _good_  or to be  _bad_ , it's not that simple. You have to  _mean_  it. And...I thought it was time to give you a chance, and I don't regret it. And...sure...your father was a monster. A bad person who did bad things because he  _wanted_  to. And you...happen to be his son. But that isn't all you are? Sure, you love your father - who doesn't? That doesn't make you a  _bad person_ , that just makes you a good son, better than he deserved…"

She trails off, watching the amazement spread across his face in response to her words.

"Am I rambling again?"

Zuko shakes his head. The look on his face is delicate, a cross between amazement and wonder and hope and...

Katara realizes then, that Zuko is not used to hearing good things about himself.

Something inside her breaks a little at the thought.

"You -" Zuko's words catch in his throat and clearly, he's overcome with  _something_ , Katara can't quite put a finger on it. "How can you...how can you be  _so_   _strong_?"

Her words die in her throat at his question.

The way he looks at her - like he's looking at her but also  _through_  her and  _up_ at her even though he's a good head taller and -

She fights to find her voice again.

"I haven't had much of a choice," she admits wryly, her words strangling in her tight throat. "I wish I didn't have to be."

He sighs again.

"Me too."

For a second their eyes meet and something changes. She can't describe what it is, but there is something that tugs at her senses, that whispers that  _nothing will be the same_ , and in a fraction of a second, she blinks and it's gone.

"Thanks."

She casts about her mind for something to say -  _anything_  to break this melancholy silence heavy with unsaid things.

"But it's not all that bad," she tries for humour, against her better instincts. "If it wasn't for your dad's interventions...yeah, I mean it might have resulted in the complete annihilation of my family and home, but hey, at least we don't have to get married now."

Her laugh sounds forced even to  _her_  ears, so she is not completely unsurprised when Zuko doesn't smile.

"What a relief," he forces out at last.

"Not that I'm  _complaining_ ," Katara corrects, wondering if her words are coming across as tactless and he's taking it as a personal slight. The more she reflects, the more she begins to understand that, unlike her, Zuko has taken this whole thing  _really_   _hard_. "I think I could've done way worse, but - I don't know, it would have been  _so weird_  -"

"Worse?" Zuko echoes. His gaze is no longer distant and unfocused, but alert and cautious, as though she's said something groundbreakingly revolutionary.

Katara shrugs.

"Well, yeah."  _You should have seen what some of the other chieftains were like, and their sons too._

" _How_?" Zuko demands disbelievingly.

She pauses, tilting her head and looking at him carefully once more.

She wasn't lying when she told him that she doesn't waste her time thinking about the myriad worlds of  _might-have-been_. The countless lifetimes where she  _wasn't_  an orphan, or Sokka  _hadn't_  left her behind, or that Prince Ozai  _hadn't_  double-crossed her parents…

But, just for a moment, she allows herself to indulge. She imagines an alternate life, an alternate version of herself, where Crown Prince Iroh and her father were able to reach an agreement. Where her father was able to usher in a new era of peace and prosperity to the Southern Water Tribe. Where she had grown up not in the company of menacing Fire Empire guards and frightened, broken children, but as the daughter of a chieftain. Where her brother spent his days learning to fight, sail a boat, hunt, rule and  _lead_ , like his father before him. Where, maybe, she would even have found a bending master from her own tribe to help her nurture her talents…

She imagines her parents, sitting her down on her sixteenth birthday and telling her that she was promised to a prince of the Fire Empire and that she would be spending the rest of her life with this  _stranger_  in a foreign land. That it was necessary to uphold the peace and prosperity of her people, that as her father's daughter, it was her  _duty_  to do so.

She is not indulgent enough to fantasize being  _upset_  about it. She imagines being somewhat nervous, at being so far away with no one familiar around, but on the whole, rather resigned about the whole thing.

She imagines that version of her,  _meeting_  him for the first time. Seeing the man that her parents had determined should be her husband. She tries to envision him as a complete stranger (and that still isn't too far a stretch of the imagination), whose father  _wasn't_  responsible for the destruction of her people. She wonders what her first impression would have been like.

But as much as the idea seems far-fetched and  _alien_  to her, as she studies the contours of his face - his thick black hair, features chiselled as though from stone, striking golden eyes - she can't imagine being  _disappointed_  by him.

In fact, something about the whole scenario resonates oddly with her. Maybe it's the  _inevitability_  of it all. That no matter how the circumstances changed, some things were certain. And if she and him were  _fated_  to cross paths, it would have happened regardless of his father and the occupation and everything else…

"Well…" she says at last, trying not to think too much about that last thought, unsettling as it is. "You're kind. And loyal. And you listen. That would have been enough."

He appears staggered by her words.

"That's  _it_?" He blinks, as though she's told him the secret to immortality or something. "You...have  _really_  low standards."

She bristles, clearly affronted.

"I do  _not_ ," she protests. "I just don't have the luxury of being a  _romantic_."

Her face wrinkles in distaste at the last word.

He appears torn at that, enmeshed in some internal quandary that she doesn't even want to begin to pull apart.

And she's  _tired_. Spirits help her, but she is. All this talk of friendship and fathers and past lives - and that too with  _Zuko_ , the thought of whom brings on an onslaught of feelings that is slowly becoming more complicated the more she gets to know him.

Being friends with him - if she can even call it that - is trickier than she'd ever imagined. He's a maze of different hidden things, who makes her curious and happy and sad all at the same time.

How they've stumbled across this when they've barely been friends for a few short weeks is beyond her, yet here they are.

"You say that like it's a good thing," Zuko replies at length.

She shrugs.

"Not bad or good. Probably smarter, though." She sighs heavily. "I'm tired."

He nods.

"Okay." He steps away. "Goodnight, Katara. I'll see you in the morning."

"Right," she says. And then, because she's unsure of  _everything_  now, she calls after him. "Are we okay?"

_It shouldn't surprise him so much_ , she thinks to herself somewhat vehemently,  _that I'd care to clarify._

But it does, nonetheless.

"I guess so," he mumbles diffidently, before walking away, the light of his torch disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.

And after what feels like an age, she opens the door, enters her room, and closes it behind her.

She lets out a sigh.

The fire is roaring in the grate and Toph is sound asleep in her bed. Or at least she appears to be. Katara wonders if she's awake, if she heard anything at all.

And then she decides it doesn't matter.

She  _shouldn't_  feel frustrated by his ambivalence. She shouldn't feel hurt by the fact that there are some parts of him beyond her help. And she certainly should  _not_  be focusing on how to help  _heal_  him, not when she herself is hanging on by a thread.

_That's_  not  _your job,_  she tells herself sternly.  _If he doesn't want to help himself, it's simply none of your business and that's that._

Or so she makes herself think as she climbs up into her bunk and settles in under the covers.

But as she drifts away to sleep, it occurs to her that perhaps she is not being entirely honest with herself, and that a part of it has gotten under her skin.

* * *

There was no way around it, Zuko reflects as he steps back out into the night air and traverses the all-too-familiar path from the girls' dorm to the boys'.

She was  _just too damn -_

A sound catches his ears and he stills, his senses on heightened alert. All his previous ruminations go flying out the window as he focuses.

_Who on earth would be wandering around at this hour?_

He doubles back, previous stealth training rendering his movements silent as a shadow in the night. The sounds lead him back to the girls' dorm, where near the entranceway, waiting with three ostrich-horses and two men holding lighted torches, is -

"Mai," Zuko says, surprised. "What are you doing?"

The subject in question stiffens and turns to face him, the men beside her drawing themselves up to their full height in what appears to be the start of an obvious challenge.

"Oh, don't bother with that," Mai tells the men - guards, presumably - witheringly, before arching her eyebrow. "I could ask you the same thing, Zuko. Did I interrupt your nighttime stroll?"

"Uncle Iroh knows I'm out here," Zuko rebuts, the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand on end. "That's - I assume that's not the case for you. You could get in trouble if he found out -"

"No I wouldn't," Mai dismisses his point with a nod to the ostrich-horse nearest to her. "I'm leaving, Zuko."

Zuko freezes, his eyes fixed on the bags loaded onto the animal's back.

"Leaving," he echoes slowly, unable to understand.

" _Yes_ ," Mai answers impatiently.

"Now?"

"More or less." Mai shrugs, exchanging a glance with one of her guards.

" _Why_?" Zuko forces out at last.

"Why wouldn't I?" Mai counters, crossing her arms across her chest. Even though her voice has not risen in volume or tone, her words are forceful. "There's nothing left for me, Zuko. I have no future here."

"Because of me," Zuko realizes flatly.

Mai doesn't answer.

"And this all -" Zuko gestures to the setup, the quiet getaway in the middle of the night, "-that's  _it_ , you were just going to get up and  _leave_ , in the middle of the night, without saying  _goodbye_?"

Mai shrugs again.

"I told General Shinu that I was leaving earlier today, and I told Ty Lee that I was going home. What more was there to say?"

"Home," Zuko repeats slowly, the memory of their last conversation all too fresh in his mind.

The word, loaded with all its implications, hovers in the air between them.

"Home," Mai echoes, her face giving nothing away.

Zuko lets out a sharp exhale.

It's like a nightmare, coming true.

Mai is going home - back to the capital, undoubtedly to join Azula in whatever plot she's cooking up.

And he can't stop her. He's lost all power over her the day he broke up with her.

"Mai," he says, softer now.

"Don't," Mai stops him, her voice still steady, but her eyes are stormy. "Don't make this any harder than it needs to be, Zuko."

He stiffens and takes a step back.

He knows when he's outmaneuvered.

"Take care of yourself, then," he says instead, fighting the warning that springs to his lips.  _Azula will use you and discard you, like she always does._

"Thank you," she replies formally, politely inclining her head.

Without another word, she grabs onto the bridle of the ostrich-horse and slides onto its back in one swift, precise motion.

"Let's go," she tells her men, who proceed to clamber onto their mounts.

"And even though you don't believe me," Zuko calls after her and he watches her slow her mount to a steady trot, "I'm sorry, Mai. I'm sorry it has to end this way."

She slowly turns her head to face him at that.

A shiver runs down his back at the small smile on her lips.

"This isn't the  _end_ ," she corrects him quietly. "This is the  _beginning_."

* * *

"Back again?" the bartender asks as Jun slides into her seat by the bar, his face spreading into an uneven-toothed smile. "That's the fourth time in a fortnight!"

"Well, it seems like all of my friends are still out of town," Jun quips, her face twisting into a grimace. "The usual, Wei."

He nods and produces a tankard of foaming dark ale for her.

"Not that I'm complaining - or even judging, hell," he tells her somberly. "It's nice to see a friendly face 'round here." He pauses, weighing his next words carefully. "Seems like most o' my friends are out of town too. You're - you're the only one that stuck around, Jun."

"Yeah well," Jun takes a deep swig of her drink and swallows with relish. "The way things are going, I'm probably sticking around here for a while."

"Still waiting on Lee and the others, huh?" Wei asks sympathetically.

"Mhm."

He scratches at his chin.

"Tough luck, running into a dead end like that," he comments. "If I see them, or hear anyone who does -"

"I appreciate it," Jun says, flashing him a quirk of the mouth that doesn't fail to make him redden a little.

Another patron catches his attention and he shuffles away, leaving her to drink in peace.

She  _can't_  believe it's come down to this. Nyla hadn't been able to uncover many real leads from that knife beyond the old palace - and that place was  _crawling_  with Dai Li. A couple of other houses had turned up in her search. One had belonged to an upper-ring nobleman who stammered through his responses to her questions and kept sneaking furtive glances at his door, behind which Jun could only assume a Dai Li agent watched silently.

Needless to say, that had been unhelpful.

The  _other_  house interested her more. She was familiar with it, and with its occupants. It was something between a halfway-house and an orphanage, but it had sheltered Jet and his infamous "freedom fighters" for quite some time.

To her chagrin, the house was empty. And a quick survey of the neighbours confirmed that it had been unoccupied for some months now.

She'd tried breaking into the house and stealing something -  _anything_  - to put Nyla back on the scent. But no matter what she used, the blind shirshu would lose the scent the moment they reached the lakeshore.

It was as though the water had  _swallowed_  them up and cut them off from the world. The thought of it sends shivers down her back.

And so that leaves her  _here_ , pitifully frequenting all the seedy pubs she knew of, leaving messages and asking questions of people who  _should_  have known them, either by name or reputation.

But Wei had been right, that first time.

The  _usuals_  are all gone.

"Something weird is definitely going on," she mutters to herself.

She's almost finished her drink when the bartender slides across from her again.

"Another?" he asks.

Jun contemplates it before shaking her head.

"Nah. Just one for me tonight," she declines wryly.

"Right," the bartender says, and then casually leans forward. For a moment, Jun thinks he's going to make a pass at her, but then he whispers in her ear. "Don't look now, but that man in the corner's been watching you all night. Today  _and_  last time you were here. Came in jus' after you did, and he'll probably leave a couple of minutes after you do."

Jun lets herself be perfectly still while she processes his words.

Her eyes scan the bar quickly, almost imperceptibly.

"Brown cloak, long braid, big forehead?" she mutters back, her lips not moving.

"That's the one."

"Right." She thinks quickly, wondering how to throw the strange man off of Wei's scent. After all, he may own a pub of some disrepute but he was still  _innocent_. And if that man is, as Jun suspects he is, Dai Li, there's no need to put him on the bartender's trail.

"Thanks for the heads-up," she hisses into his ear, before pecking him on the cheek and leaning back, her face feigning an expression of some amused interest.

Wei flounders before her, clearly taken aback.

"No...problem," he stammers, clapping a hand on his cheek. "Uh…"

She slides a handful of coins across the countertop.

"Keep the change," she says with a wink.

"Be careful now," Wei warns her mildly, scraping the coins off the bar.

"I always am."

She gets out of her seat and slowly ambles toward the door, the long-haired man in the corner within her line of peripheral vision.

She decides against confronting him in the pub. Too many witnesses and she doesn't know how many of them have also been bought by the Dai Li. Maybe all of them. And there was the off chance that someone innocent could get hurt, and  _that_  would raise all sorts of questions.

No, the best way to do it would be to slip outside and wander slowly within earshot of the stable. If he  _was_  a tail sent by the Dai Li, he'd come to  _her_.

But just as she takes a step out of the pub and into the cool night air -

"Excuse me, miss," interrupts a wheezy male voice in her ear. "Would you mind helping us for a moment -"

"Not particularly," Jun mutters, still trying to keep the long-haired man in her line of sight - she sees him getting up, slowly, and -

"You call  _that_  convincing, old man?" drawls another voice, deeper and rougher. "Let  _me_  handle this."

A hand closes around her forearm in a vicelike grip.

Jun wrenches her arm free and elbows her assailant viciously. A crack and a howl later -

" _You bitch! You broke my nose!_ "

"Yeah well, you asked for it," Jun answers, thoroughly unintimidated. Wrenching her gaze away from where the long-haired man is paying for his drink, she stops to observe the two unfortunate men standing in her way.

One is dark and sallow, with greasy dark hair and a muscular build. At the moment, he is doubled over with his hands cupping his profusely bleeding nose.

The other is older, slighter, and has a more refined, almost pompous air. He's dressed in much nicer robes than she's seen on most people around the lower ring. He has long black hair, and a thin beard and moustache to match. At the moment, he is clapping his hands together in what appears to be a mocking gesture.

"Oh, you  _handled that_  well, Xin Fu. I'll remember to defer to your expertise the next time I want my nose broken by a beautiful lady!"

" _Ugh_." Jun rolls her eyes impressively and tries to push past the two of them. "Spare me."

Much to her irritation, the older man blocks her, smiling at her unctuously.

"I apologize for my...colleague's behaviour," he announces. "We just thought you could help us."

"The senior's home is down the corner. You're welcome," Jun retorts witheringly, chancing a glance behind her to regain sight of the long-haired man.

But to her dismay, she can't spot him anywhere.

_It's like he just up and vanished. What the hell?_

" _We're not looking for a senior's home_ ," roars the man with the broken nose, Xin Fu. His words are barely intelligible to her ears.

"Be quiet, you're embarrassing yourself," the older man snaps imperiously, before turning to face Jun crisply. "We would greatly appreciate your help in finding someone for us. With your shirshu, it would be a very straightforward task -"

"Look here,  _old man_ ," Jun cuts him off in a menacing voice. "You two idiots have already lost me my mark for the night, so I would  _think_   _twice_  before wasting any more of my time."

"The bounty is quite substantial," the old man assures her, procuring a paper scroll from his sleeve and unfurling it. "Take a look. Will you help us find her?"

Jun's eyebrows lower to an impressive scowl as she takes in the portrait. It's of a girl, maybe twelve years old, and  _cute_ , with fair skin, black hair and light green eyes.

"Sorry. I'm not into little girls," she quips dryly, before arching an eyebrow. "Bit young for the two of you, no?  _Naughty_."

The old man looks affronted.

"She  _ran away_  from her parents!"

"Yawn," Jun dismisses him. "Not interested."

"Her  _rich_  parents!" the man continues, and there's almost a pleading note in his voice. " _Filthy_   _rich_. And if you were to, say... _help_  return their daughter -"

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'm sure they'd be very generous and pay me enough to buy the entire upper ring. I'm still not interested." She frowns, gazing at the portrait again. Something catches her attention. "Wait, is she  _blind_?"

The man nods fervently.

"She  _is_. She's blind and a  _brilliant_  earthbender and  _way_  too smart for her own good-"

Jun lets out a snigger.

"I'll bet. Though it's not saying much, giving  _you two_  bozos the slip." She smirks at the two of them mockingly. "You two can't even find a  _blind kid_. Bumi's right nut, that's  _embarrassing_. That's just  _sad_."

"So you won't help us," the old man says,  _finally_  cluing in.

"Nope," Jun walks past the two of them. "I'm feeling very unhelpful. And not in the mood to chase down some little rich kid that's run away from home." She pauses. "Actually, I kind of like the sound of her. So, I don't think you'll mind if I don't wish you luck, either."

She turns the corner and forgets about them the instant they fall out of sight.

A quick scan of her surroundings confirms to her that the long-haired man is nowhere to be seen either.

" _Damn it,_ " Jun swears under her breath. Her fists clench. The  _first_  headway she's made in  _weeks_  and what happens? She loses sight of him because of a pair of  _clowns_.

Rubbing her forehead, she wonders whether marching back to the pub and beating the shit out of the two of them would make her feel any better.

She entertains the thought for a while, before shaking her head and whistling softly instead.

Nyla comes bounding to her side a few short moments later.

"Good girl," Jun says soothingly, running a hand through her mane before swinging onto her back. "It's getting late, isn't it? Come on, let's go home…"

As they slip through the dark streets of Ba Sing Se's lower ring, it strikes her that it's still not a  _complete_  loss.

After all, if the man had showed up  _twice_  at Wei's looking for her, he was bound to appear again.

And when he did, she would be  _ready_  for him.

* * *

**author's notes.** love jun to bits.

i didn't initially plan for iroh to derail the entire chapter with an AU arranged!fic plot summary but sometimes shit happens. (aka obviously he's a shipper and wanted to make that known)

can i take a moment to express how tired i get of writing lovesick angsty!zuko? that whole conversation between z&k was  _draining_. oh man. you poor readers for having to put up with this! next part onward things are lightening up (because if they don't i will literally kill myself writing this), so that should be something to look forward to...

ALSO just floating a thought for now.. so believe it or not, this fic's involved a  _ton_  of plotting and storyboarding etc. (helps keep the storytelling efficient and organized, sometimes i have trouble keeping it all straight in my head). it's also...grown...a lot...during the writing process...which isn't a bad thing! certain things sort of developed really organically with the story (like originally i had a bit of a canon aang/katara/zuko love triangle going on, which i struggled with for a bit before deciding to redo altogether, to much greater satisfaction. uncle iroh was another big surprise - i didn't initially plan for him to show up for katara's sentencing in chapter 12; that whole scene was literally a paragraph long when i first envisioned it. so...)

rambling aside, this fic's sort of grown quite top-heavy in that i think we're about a quarter of the way through the story as i've planned it. the more storyboarding i do, the more i gravitate to the idea of splitting this story into a trilogy, as even now, i've been thinking of the story in "phases". we're about ten chapters out from concluding the "first phase" of the story, which gives a bit of time for me to decide, but i was just curious about what you guys think about the whole thing. giant 60+ chapter fanfic or three separate instalments?

love the idea? hate it? think it's ludicrous? don't really care at all? let me know! comments are like ice cream on a hot day!


	19. falling so slow (pt. iv: fly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an experiment gone awry leads to some unexpected consequences. meanwhile, jun draws nearer to the heart of the dai li conspiracy.

**disclaimer.**  atla & all its associated content are property of bryke, i'm just writing this because i have way too many feels and needed to share them all.

**author's notes.** look who's back with another chapter inside of a month! i didn't plan for this one to get so long, but a lot of little things snowballed out of control and before i knew it, this turned into the longest instalment to date(?)

yeah...i should really start imposing word limits on myself *sigh*

thank you to everyone who's been leaving such lovely feedback! your comments mean everything to me and have been helping me power through the slow burn!

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter xix.**  falling so slow  _(pt iv: fly)_

* * *

_we've got forever slipping through our hands_  
_we've got more time to never understand_

"between two points"/ the glitch mob

* * *

By the time General Iroh concludes the day's meditation session, the sun has already dipped below the horizon. The scent of change is heavy in the air. The evening breeze carries with it a dry chill and the last of the brightly coloured leaves. In the dusky glow, the bare branches of surrounding trees stretch into the sky like a thousand knobbly, skeletal fingers.

The old General levels his four disciples with a serene smile as they open their eyes.

"How do you feel?" he asks, his voice the only sound in the quiet clearing.

* * *

The four of them quietly consider the implication of his question. It has been a little over a fortnight since General Iroh had forbidden them from bending and committed them to his strict spiritual discipline. Every day since has stretched out before them, each minute passing by slowly, trading fulfilled promise for wasted potential.

"The same," Aang admits, a slightly hapless expression shifting over his face. "But…different."

He's had adequate time to reflect upon this over the past weeks. By now, the excitement and trepidation of the first days have worn off. Though his circumstances have not changed in the slightest and his communications with his mentors back at the temple give him no greater satisfaction than previously, he supposes he has become more at peace with the discord around him. And with the confusion inside him.

Looking back at the ambitions that had motivated him – and the  _rest_  of them – to undergo General Iroh's challenge, Aang can't help but feel slightly embarrassed at their ignorance. Their arrogance. To even  _think_  that a fortnight without their bending would be enough to unlock the secret talents of bending! When generations of airbending masters who had dedicated their  _lives_  couldn't achieve Laghima's feat. He marvels at the lack of humility that had brought them to this spot, humbled and exhausted and hollow.

He supposes that it's no more than he deserves.

* * *

"What Twinkletoes said," Toph grumbles from beside him, shifting uncomfortably where she sits.

_The same. But…different._

She reasons it's an adequate enough summation of how she feels. Looking back at two weeks prior, she considers her old fear. Her abject refusal to return to the darkness of the cage. The isolation and emptiness and helplessness of it all.

It feels no less strange to be cut off from the world now, even after all her meditations. Though her other senses are sharper than ever, it only emphasizes the glaring void in her mind where her bending used to be. But she has also learned another important thing.

That even in the darkness, she is not lost. She is not alone.

And though the old fear persists, it is tempered by something else. Something she can't quite put a finger on. If she hadn't known any better, she might have mistaken it for  _confidence_  but the word seems woefully inadequate to describe the pulsing, steady calm that reigns within her.

_How_  this is supposed to make her a better bender, she's not quite sure. But if she's confused about it, at least she's not the only one.

She supposes that it's no more than she deserves.

* * *

"Yeah," Katara agrees uncertainly, seated cross-legged next to Toph. "Like we've gone nowhere and everywhere at the same time."

By now, Katara is no stranger to self-reflection. Her stint in solitary not so long ago provided her with ample opportunity to take a critical look in the mirror. Her mind, so used to devising action plans and strategies, now strangely suited to the quiet art of self-refinement.

She has had more than enough time to confront her regrets and her shame. Time to fix what she can change and accept what she cannot. Time to, if not transcend the hurts of her past, then to at least envision the path there. Many a long day, she's imagined the burdens of the past like anchors tied to her body. She's imagined cutting them loose and letting them sink down to the bottom of the ocean, while floating away on the waves, cool, serene, weightless.

The memories make it difficult. When she had harnessed the grief and hatred in her heart to hurl as a weapon against those that stood against her, the painful memories of home and family burned hot within her, lending her strength and ammunition and drive. But now…now that she is trying to distance herself from it, the memories and the hurt weaken her. It all comes crashing back, everything she's been trying stoically to hold within so that nobody sees the girl inside – all of it, on display through the tears that escape and trail down her cheeks during the meditations.

She tells herself that in time, the ache will vanish. The anger and the grief and the loss will all fade away, transmuting into cold, steel  _purpose_. Already, she begins to feel the alchemy silently taking root in her heart.

She only has to wait.

And she supposes that it's no more than she deserves.

* * *

Zuko doesn't say a word. He only nods his head quietly as the others speak.

_The same. But…different._

_Going everywhere and nowhere at the same time._

The last couple of weeks have felt, to Zuko, like he's been running on a giant wheel. He tries and tries with all his might to escape, only to find himself in the exact same spot where he started.

In fact, with Mai's departure earlier that week, he might even have moved  _backward_.

Azula and his father are probably orchestrating something back home, beyond his reach and comprehension.

Uncle Iroh is no closer to solving the mystery of his botched assassination.

And he can't even keep Katara safe if he tries.

But if the past couple of weeks have taught him anything, it's that dwelling on these failures will do him no good.

_Correction_ , he notices and it takes an overwhelming amount of effort to keep his inner voice calm.  _These are not failures. These are not my failures. They are obstacles and I'll find a way around them._

It sounds feeble and unconvincing even to his ears, and if his father heard it, he would sneer at it.

But his father is miles away in the capital, and Zuko is here. And so is Uncle Iroh, who believes in him. And miraculously, so are Aang and Toph and  _Katara_  – who believe in him too.

And strangely enough, through the shame and resigned futility that weigh down his every waking thought, he can feel something else – something crazy and defiant, a spark of something like optimism or hope. For the first time, Zuko  _sees_.

And even if he is doomed to fail at everything, like he's been told all his life, well – at least he'll have his head facing forward instead of fixed to the ground.

And he won't be alone.

"I suppose," he says quietly, and the others turn to face him as though he's reading their thoughts, "it's no more than we deserve."

* * *

General Iroh's smile broadens at Zuko's words, as Aang exclaims that he'd been thinking the same thing and both Toph and Katara chorus that they had too.

"Well done," he speaks over them, and all four of them fall silent. "I see you have  _finally_  learned the one thing that is the most important of them all.  _Humility_."

He beams at their ensuing confusion.

"Think of all the worldly troubles you faced in these past exercises. Think of all the things that weighed you down and blocked your chakras and stopped your chi from flowing. And think of what the key to conquering them was. Not pride, not anger or stoicism or bravado – but just  _true humility_. It is the first step that separates novice from master, child from adult, amateur from expert. And you have all done far more than what I expected of you. You should be  _very_  proud of yourselves."

There is pride in his eyes as he surveys the four of them.

"My part in this particular journey of yours is over, for now. I am confident that you have learned what you need to carry on this path alone. Remember that you will only reap the fruit after sowing and nurturing the seed."

The silence that follows his words is heavy with expectation and tentative disbelief.

"Wait," Toph says suddenly, realizing the implication of the General's words. "Does – does this mean –" her face lights up as Iroh makes no effort to correct her, "- that we can  _bend again_?"

"Yes," General Iroh says emphatically, with a grin and an earnest nod. "Yes, you've more than earned that privilege by now –"

His words are cut off by a loud, deep rumbling sound.

" _YES_!" she all but yells, sliding immediately into a deep-seated stance and pulling her hands into two fists at her side. She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply, and sighs happily. The ground beneath them ripples and quakes, before coming to a standstill.

" _I can see again_ ," Toph sings, and even though there is a look of pure delight on her face, her voice has a slight tremor to it. She flops down onto the ground, spread-eagled in the dirt, and flails her limbs around as though making a snow angel. " _Oh sweet, beautiful dirt, I've missed you –_ "

Fighting the smile that springs to her lips, Katara flexes her fingers tentatively.

At once, water empties from the stalks of grass within a fifteen-foot radius of her, rushing to her fingers in the span of a breath.

"Whoa," Aang comments, casting a sidelong glance at the withered ground beneath her feet. "Could – could you always do that?"

Katara shrugs, inhaling deeply and feeling the pull of the water on her and realizing how much she missed it.

"I guess," she replies uncertainly. She moves her hands slowly, tentatively, and the water follows the steady motion of her hands like a silhouette. "I try not to, usually. But I guess I couldn't help it."

_Spirits, it feels good to bend again._

"I get that," Aang remarks, promptly pulling his wrists together and hopping onto an air scooter. His face slackens in pure bliss as he balances on top of the whirling ball of air, relishing the familiarity. "I  _missed_  this."

Somewhat to the side, Zuko inhales deeply and when he exhales, twin jets of hot, bright yellow flames erupt from his nostrils. He stills for a moment, watching the flames flit out of existence and the leftover smoke curl upward into the air, thinking hard –

Then he begins to lob fireballs into the air, one after another, watching the small, brightly yellow flames follow his motions with more fidelity than they used to –

"It feels different," he marvels, stopping and turning his hands up to gaze at his palms. "It – feels  _easier_."

All four of them stop, glance at him, and then turn their inquiring eyes to where General Iroh still stands in wait before them.

"That is probably true," he agrees, nodding slowly. "With the flow of energy cleared out for the first time, you will find your abilities somewhat enhanced."

"Really?" Toph pauses, scrunching her face up and focusing. "Hey, you're right. I can see  _more_  now! This…" Her face lights up. "This is  _awesome_! To be honest, Grandpa, I had my doubts about this meditation stuff, but I gotta admit. This is pretty neat. You really pulled through."

"Oh no, Toph," General Iroh corrects her, shaking his head. "It was  _you_  who pulled through. I merely guided you, and on occasion had to beat you into submission with a stick."

"No you didn't," Toph points out, momentarily confused before comprehension dawns upon her face. "Wait, was that a  _joke_ , Grandpa?"

"It certainly was," General Iroh agrees, smiling slyly. "Nonetheless, I would caution the four of you to be careful. While there is certainly a time and place to explore the new limits of your bending abilities, I would ask you to consider the safety of the others at this base and restrain yourselves at least for tonight."

He directs the last bit at Toph and Zuko, eyebrows raised.

Toph hangs her head.

"We'll behave," Zuko promises, his voice resigned.

"Good," General Iroh approves with a nod. "Now go, have your dinner, take a bath, and  _relax_. You've earned it. Tomorrow we will start again after breakfast."

* * *

"I thought I was  _never_  going to bend again," Toph confesses later on that night. "Or  _see_."

She carelessly lifts a large rock from the wooden bucket by the door and floats it onto the stove in the middle of the dry wood-and-stone room.

"I hear you," Katara agrees, streaming a generous quantity of water on top of the stove. As the water sizzles on contact and fills the room with heat, both girls lean back on the wooden bench and sigh.

It is sometime after dinner and Toph decided that it had been too long since they'd gotten any use out of their sauna.

Katara agreed, surprising the blind earthbender. Usually, she'd been too shy in the past.

"This is the  _stuff_ ," Toph breathes, feeling the wet heat work into her stiff muscles. "Who knew sitting on the ground and doing  _nothing_  could be so exhausting?"

"That's for sure," Katara says, not moving her head from where it rests against the wall. "That was one of the hardest things I've ever done."

"You and me both," Toph acknowledges. " _But_  we're on the other side now. Do you think you're going to keep doing Grandpa's meditations from now on?"

Katara shrugs, her eyes closed.

"I suppose I owe him that," she comments abstractly, too relaxed to give the matter much immediate thought. "It's not so bad if it really makes that big a difference in your bending, right?"

"I guess," Toph says diffidently. She wiggles her toes against the floor. "We'll probably just play it by ear, right?"

"Mm," Katara acquiesces wordlessly.

"Thought so." Toph hesitates, before sightlessly turning her head to face the waterbender sitting next to her. "And Sweetness? Thanks for looking out for me."

Katara's eyes open in surprise, as she faces Toph, expecting a quick, witty retort.

"Oh," she replies when she sees the blind earthbender is sincere. "Don't – don't worry about it, Toph. I could hardly have left you when I was the one who talked you into it."

"Yeah, well…" Toph remarks slowly, trying to make her voice airy as a small smile spreads across Katara's face. "In retrospect, it would have been  _boring_  being the only one not doing Grandpa's crash course anyway."

* * *

The more he tries to avoid it, the worse it gets.

This is the conclusion that Zuko arrives at early the next morning, flushed and sticky and uncomfortable under his tousled bedsheets, following a long and confusing night of self-defeat and resignation.

It all started with him  _swearing_ , as he climbed into bed the night before, that he  _wouldn't_ , he  _couldn't_  avoid her anymore. It wasn't right, and she'd already called him out on it once and by the  _dragons_  he was being  _so obvious and awkward about it –_

So instead, he resolved, he'd just fake it till he makes it. He would be courteous during their bending training, reasonably polite during pai sho, and otherwise, remain his usual, silent self, and hopefully she'd be none the wiser and  _he_  would be able to move on from this – this  _obsession_  –

But that didn't quite work, because he remembered then that other people knew – Toph  _knew_  and Mai, Mai had  _guessed_ , and was probably whispering it straight into Azula's ear by now and then –  _then_  –

Then  _nothing_. He couldn't protect her without hurting her and he knows by now that isn't an option. Worrying himself sick might be, but she wouldn't ever let him  _do_  anything about it, and he certainly  _couldn't_  tell her –

But then his mind ran away with him and he slipped back into the possibilities of  _might-have-been_  and then he was  _lost_.

He imagined  _telling_  her, just blurting it out one day, maybe after a charged training session or walking back alone from yet another pai sho match drawn out too long, or some other vague, unsubstantiated setting. He imagined her eyes widening as she heard it from his lips and looking  _surprised_ , or uncomfortable, or disgusted, even, that he could even  _think_  of her like that. He even lived through a rejection or two in his mind before envisioning a possibility where she said  _yes_.

He drifted off to sleep trying not to fixate on that last one: about pulling her in and kissing the living daylights out of her, running his fingers along her face and neck and through the thick curtain of her hair. What would she even look like without her hair tied back in its sensible, practical braid? What would her hair feel like? Or her skin? Or her lips, against his own? And  _what else_ … What would her body feel like? What would it even  _look_  like? Her uniform was several sizes too large for her and even the robe they'd gotten her draped loosely around her, leaving plenty for the imagination to guess at – would she be curvy? Muscular? Willowy? He has  _no idea_  and it doesn't  _matter_.

It doesn't matter that, objectively speaking, she  _isn't_  the prettiest girl he's ever laid eyes on – that her features are a little too sharp and gaunt in her otherwise soft face, that her hair doesn't sit perfectly smooth against her scalp but coils and frizzes against the strict confines of her braid, that her skin isn't pale and soft and unblemished but callused and dark as the shell of a nut, that she has a  _temper_  and when she's angry, it makes her blue eyes flash and seem larger than they are –  _it doesn't matter –_

Because if she isn't the prettiest girl he's ever seen, there's still something about her that's  _striking_  and that's struck something in him and now he's stuck here, wondering  _what if, what else_ , if she let him… _if_  – she wasn't a  _maiden_  after all,  _what if she let him_  – and  _then_  things spiral  _quite_  out of control from there.

By the time the sun rises over the horizon, he is not entirely sure which of his fantasies are deliberate and which are just his subconscious whispering to him in his dreams again. But as his heart drums in his chest and the uncomfortable tightness curls somewhere in the pit of his stomach and his hand closes around the swelling erection that greets him in the morning, he knows he's fighting a losing battle.

* * *

That morning, after breakfast, General Iroh meets them in the clearing.

He walks them through some basic forms, watching the four of them carefully rediscover their mastery over their respective elements.

" _Good_ ," he encourages them warmly, watching how even without trying, their movements start to take on similarities and synchronicity. " _Very good_."

He stops them an hour later, and strokes his beard thoughtfully.

"We are entering uncharted territory today," he tells them. "From here on in, we are only testing  _theories_. From here on in, my guess is as good as anyone else's here. Do you understand?"

"Yes," all four of them chorus, exchanging curious glances with each other.

"Good," General Iroh says with a nod. "Then it is time to impart a bit of theory. Prince Zuko is already familiar with it and can help demonstrate. Zuko, step forward."

Zuko, looking somewhat taken aback, complies nonetheless. He casts a questioning glance at his uncle, who smiles at him.

"Today, you are going to show your friends," his uncle instructs, "how to generate lightning."

Zuko freezes, staring at his uncle in growing apprehension.

"But –" he begins to protest.

His uncle raises a hand to silence him.

"Last time was different.  _Now_ , you are more in tune with the energy within you – and  _around you_  – than ever before. I believe you can do it." He smiles serenely, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "And your friends do too. Don't they?"

Toph, Aang, and Katara nod in agreement.

Zuko sighs, and assumes the starting position.

* * *

He dutifully walks the rest of them through the motions, Uncle Iroh occasionally interrupting with a correction or a pointer.

"That's  _weird_ ," Toph comments, taking on the stance and frowning. "I don't really feel it, though."

"Me neither," Aang admits, worry spreading over his face. "I…I don't know,  _sometimes_  I think I feel what you're talking about, Zuko, but – but not exactly…"

" _Same_ ," Katara agrees, her face screwing up in confusion. "I – don't really feel it in my  _stomach_ , but sometimes, if I go  _lower_ , I feel it there –"

"I feel it  _higher_ ," Aang counters with a shrug. "I don't know, Toph – maybe you can try experimenting and see if you feel the energy collecting somewhere else?"

Understanding dawns on Uncle Iroh's face.

" _Perhaps_ ," he exclaims, a look of pure delight crossing his face as he claps his hands together. He tosses a triumphant glance at his nephew. "Prince Zuko, I think your earlier deduction may have been correct."

"Huh?" Zuko breaks out of position, confused.

Uncle Iroh shakes his head, beaming.

"You asked a question once – about whether different benders employ different chakras to power their bending. I think you might have been on to something." He points to Aang. "The  _air_  chakra, located in the heart – just  _above_  the stomach." He then points to Katara. "The  _water_  chakra, located in the pelvis – just  _below_  the stomach."

"You mean," Zuko faces his uncle, bewildered, "that different benders have their energy pooling in a different chakra?"

"It makes sense," Uncle Iroh mutters, stroking his beard in deep thought. "Everyone has the same seven chakras, without a doubt, but perhaps their  _importance_  varies between bending types. After all, when bending  _forms_  vary so intrinsically, of course the  _distribution_  of energy would be different as well…"

He looks sharply at Zuko.

"I have always told you, Prince Zuko, that firebending comes from the  _breath_. From the air through your nostrils through to the  _stomach_ , where pure energy pools and is transmitted to your limbs in the form of  _fire_." He glances at the others and shrugs helplessly. "But I cannot say the same for earth, water, or airbending."

"Um…" Aang thinks, tapping at his chin thoughtfully. "Airbending doesn't really work like that. Your center has to be a bit higher, because you're always moving and the motions are so cyclical…you essentially have to be weightless, like  _becoming_  air."

"Yeah, but earthbending is completely the opposite," Toph points out. "You have to be low, rooted right to the ground so that nothing can knock you down. If the ground moves beneath you, you stop it, and if something comes at you, you go  _through_  it. The earth becomes a  _part_  of you, it supports you like…" she struggles, trying to describe it, "like it's your backbone."

"Waterbending doesn't really work like any of that," Katara says wryly. "It's all about pushing and pulling. Water exerts a force on us, and we push it back. We focus on flow and balance and – " she frowns, trying to come up with the proper words to  _describe_  something completely indescribable, "I don't know? It's all about  _yielding_ , in a way? Like surrendering? Like…you bend with the water but you have to be flexible, you can't break. You just sort of…channel it."

Zuko privately tries very hard to keep his thoughts pure.

Iroh raises his eyebrows.

"Interesting," he remarks, and he looks like a child who's discovered the dessert table. " _Very_  interesting. It is a thing of great fascination – how  _different_  your bending is – in spite of some few, common, overarching themes." His gaze roves between Aang and Katara. "The  _weightlessness_  of airbending and the – the  _surrender_  of waterbending, as you describe, they…" and here he rubs at the side of his face, thinking hard, "they sound  _so_  different from firebending and yet… so  _similar_  to what is required for generating lightning…"

He stills, as a new revelation breaks over him.

"Prince Zuko, you still have trouble separating the energies in your body, do you not?"

Zuko looks up, momentarily distracted, and colours slightly while nodding.

"Perhaps…" Uncle Iroh muses, talking to himself now, "perhaps…an opposite…"

He looks at Katara for a moment and Zuko's heart quails, before his uncle turns his gaze to Aang instead.

"Sifu Aang," he instructs, and Zuko fights a sigh of relief. "I want to try something. This is purely theoretical. Based on the  _complementary yet different_  nature of air and fire, as well as the  _common_  themes of detachment and weightlessness between air and lightning, I…" he draws a breath and his voice becomes more firm. "I would like you to step forward and join my nephew."

"Uh…" Aang looks confused but does so anyway. "Okay?"

"I would like the two of you to coordinate and synchronize your movements," Uncle Iroh continues. "The motions required for producing lightning. You may alter them to suit airbending instead of firebending, as per your convenience."

"Okay…" Aang falters, somewhat uncomfortable. "Um, why though?"

Uncle Iroh shrugs.

"Perhaps what my nephew needs is a boost. The same way different poles of a magnet draw at each other,  _perhaps_  having a complementary bender can…influence the separation of energies within him." He shrugs. "It is a far-fetched theory but we may have seen evidence of this earlier, with the accidental bending fusion – so please, if you will, indulge this crazy old man."

"Uh…" Aang struggles, before exchanging a quizzical glance with Zuko. "Sure? No problem."

He moves to stand across from Zuko, facing him. Both of them close their eyes, take a deep breath, and assume a wide, low stance, Zuko's hands at the level of his stomach, Aang's a bit higher, at the level of his heart.

They try moving in synchrony, mirroring each other's movements, forming the opposing circular rotations with their right hands, and then their left, over and over, slowly at first. Zuko's motions are more firm, while Aang's are softer, but as they concentrate, occasionally cracking an eye open to peep at the other's motions and check if they're still in sync,  _slowly_ , sparks begin to trail from Zuko's fingers.

"You're doing it, Prince Zuko," his uncle calls, and Zuko fights the excitement that builds within him. "Focus and  _let go._ "

He takes another breath to calm himself, and for the first time does he really  _feel_  it – the pull of his hands against the pulsing energy in his stomach, the crackling as it divides further and positive and negative both grow unsteady, the calmness, the  _sureness_  that settles over him –  _he's just empty, weightless like air_  – and for a second, he wonders if the air nomad's presence is actually  _working_  –

" _Now_ ," Uncle Iroh commands, and the word strums like a plucked string in Zuko's consciousness.

_Now_.

Zuko brings his hands together and lunges forward, unthinking,  _unfeeling_  – the crackling energy coursing through him as in front of him, Aang does the same.

A single, bright, painful spark emits from his fingertips, sharp and stinging and as quick to flit out of existence as it was to appear.

" _Ow_ ," Zuko winces, cradling his stinging hand.

" _That hurt_ ," Aang complains, shaking his fingers out to relieve the sharp, sudden pain.

"What happened?" Zuko rounds on his uncle, his frustration mounting. "I did it  _right_ , I  _felt_  it,  _it should have worked._ "

"Mm," Uncle Iroh frowns. "You  _did_."

"I  _know_  I did," Zuko insists. "Then – why didn't it work?"

Uncle Iroh thinks for a moment, before he sighs.

"Static," he says simply.

"What?" Zuko and Aang chorus.

"In hindsight, it makes sense," Uncle Iroh mutters, shaking his head. "When you accumulate two opposite charges in the presence of air, you get static. You  _did_  do it, my nephew, but the medium was wrong.  _Interesting_."

"What?" Zuko repeats, disbelief coursing through him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it worked in  _theory_ ," Uncle Iroh insists, more firmly. "Clearly, the presence of an opposite energy mirroring your own  _helped_  you in sustaining the separation. But not in transmitting it. I should have guessed." He shakes his head again, as though stating the obvious. "Air dissipates electricity. You need something that  _conducts_  it." He sighs. "Water it is, then."

He turns his gaze to Katara.

"Sifu Katara, if you and Aang could switch places."

* * *

"This probably," Katara admits wryly, an apologetic smile flitting over her face briefly, "wasn't the best idea your uncle's had in a while, is it?"

He groans and shakes his head.

They are standing face-to-face, a couple of feet apart. After he'd tried and failed a couple of times to make lightning with her accompanying him, General Iroh had granted him a break to gather his focus.

She wonders at his obvious discomfort, before remembering that he's an incredibly closed-off person and that this sort of… _closeness_  was clearly uncomfortable for him.

_To be honest, it freaks me out a little too._

"It's not you," he mumbles, his fingers twitching, a hand running through his mess of hair in frustration. "It's  _me_. I can't do this."

"Of course you can," Katara argues gently. "We've done this before, haven't we?"

Against her better judgment, her hands reach out to clasp his reassuringly.

Something judders deep within her as she does, somewhere in the region of her unsteady water chakra, that floods her with something electric, snatching the air from her lungs so that her breath catches in the recesses of her throat. His hands are rough and callused against hers, and shockingly warm in the crisp air, radiating heat but gently, deceptively, as though hiding the fire that lies in wait…

"We have?" Zuko glances at her quizzically, nervously, and she can  _feel_  his heartbeat skyrocketing at the prospect –  _spirits, he's so scared of trying_  – his pulse drums against her senses – or maybe it's just her own, she can't tell anymore, she's on edge, gripped by vestiges of the old fear and discomfort that his presence elicits –

"Not with lightning, maybe," Katara allows, tilting her head a little to the side. Her breathing is a little heavier than she'd care to admit.

"Right," he admits, his posture relaxing somewhat. His pulse – it  _must_  be his, there's  _no way_  her heart is pounding so frenetically right now – is still loud in her ears, too loud, and she can't really blame him for that – the  _last_  time their bending had accidentally fused, a lot of complicated things happened. But none of them were  _his_  fault exactly.

"You just need to find your space," she assures him in a deceptively steady voice, her hands withdrawing from his but still impossibly warm ( _were all firebenders this hot or was it just him?_ ), resting them at her sides.

"I'm  _trying_ ," Zuko points out, frustration colouring his voice. "But I don't know if I have one."

"That's rubbish," Katara counters. "Everyone has one. But it's not always what you expect. Some people are like  _monks_ , you know, they're most themselves when it's quiet inside, and then some people are only like that when they're fighting for their lives." She shrugs. "You just have to figure out which one  _you_  are."

"What do you think I am?"

The words slip out of his mouth almost without his realization, she thinks, the way his face colours afterward.

She surveys him, weighing everything that he is, everything that she knows about him, everything that she  _doesn't_  know…

"I'm not sure," she falters as his gaze meets hers. "But you seem like you'd be pretty useless as a monk."

There's a pause, before Zuko nods his head sharply.

"Lousy," he agrees in a deadpan voice.

They both laugh nervously.

* * *

"It's so nice to see them getting along," Aang remarks to Toph as he watches Zuko and Katara laugh quietly in the distance. "Right?"

Toph fights the exasperation that threatens to show on her face.

"Yeah, it's real cute," she quips lightly instead, tapping her foot against the ground idly. "Any more and I think I'm gonna be sick."

* * *

"Alright," General Iroh calls out, clapping his hands together. "Let's try again. Prince Zuko, Sifu Katara…"

"I guess that's our cue," Katara says, her hand touching her braid absently. She smiles at him. " _You can do it._  Just find your space."

Then she steps back, so that there's a couple more feet of space between them.

"Right," Zuko stammers. "Thanks."

Then she watches him take a deep breath, close his eyes, and settle into position.

She takes a breath before mimicking him, keeping an eye slitted open to monitor his movements. Her stance is a little lower than his, her hands held a little looser, her motions at the level of her pelvis instead of her stomach. Otherwise, they are completely in sync, a mirror to each other.

"You're doing well," General Iroh notes in approval as sparks begin to trail from Zuko's fingers. "Keep it up."

The funny thing is, sometimes  _she_  feels it too. Not the sparks or the electricity that the firebenders must feel, but  _something_  stirring inside her, coursing, pulsing, dividing…

"You're almost ready," General Iroh says, his voice rising in anticipation. " _Focus_ , Prince Zuko."

Her eyes are trained to his motions, growing steadily quicker and firmer. The hesitation and uncertainty that had gripped him just moments earlier are gone, and though his face is scrunched up in concentration, he doesn't look like he's  _fighting_  it anymore.

_Good old Sifu Hotman_ , she thinks fondly, with just a trace of irony.  _That's the spirit._

Still, they've reached this point before and it hasn't worked, so she forces herself to breathe and calm the jitters that are taking over her –

" _Now_ ," General Iroh commands, his hands clasped together. Next to him, Aang is watching with his fingers pressed against his mouth, and Toph is alert, her fists clenched in anticipation.

_Now_ , Katara thinks, her mouth dry watching as though in slow motion, across from her, Zuko brings his hands together and lunges forward, and  _then_  –

She  _feels_  it in her skin somehow before she sees it, the great current of bright blue lightning erupting from his fingertips –  _he did it, he did it_  – crackling and snapping loudly in the air –  _I can't believe it_  – crashing  _directly toward her –_

" _Shit_ ," is all Katara has time to say, the word somehow squeezed out of her by the elastic band of tension  _snapping_  shut across her heart, propelling her to react – the lightning bears down on her faster than her paralyzed limbs can register –

Someone's shouting, screaming, in the distance – but she can't hear it –

There's no time to move, or jump out of the way, or  _think_  even –

Her eyes squeeze shut and instinct takes over. Her hands shoot up instantly, reflexively assuming a form that is foolish – she would have laughed if she'd been thinking at all –  _why on earth would you do such a useless thing you poor dead idiot_ , her mind would've whispered mournfully as it strikes her,  _you can't waterbend with lightning…_

Except somehow –  _miraculously_  –

The lightning is freezing cold to the touch somehow – both ice-cold  _and_  white-hot all at the same time –  _the cold-blooded fire_ , she remembers numbly as it licks a path straight through her body – her arms, her stomach, her pelvis…

– and  _it makes sense_  even though it's  _all wrong_ , she's a waterbender, she's  _not supposed to bend fire –_

But it flows through her like  _water_  – and the feeling is as  _unnatural_  as it is right and  _then_  –

She lunges,  _pushing_  the way she would if it was water.

And to her immense, mounting, unending shock, the lightning  _obeys_.

* * *

The silence that descends upon the clearing after the lightning fizzles out of existence somewhere in the sky is tinged with varying degrees of horror, disbelief, and awe.

"What," Katara musters, breathing heavily as she opens her eyes to survey the world around her, as though searching for a hint that she's  _imagined_  it, "just happened?"

Then there are feet pounding against the ground, footfalls rushing toward her, hands cupping her face –

" _You're okay_?" Zuko demands disbelievingly, his fingers still impossibly hot –  _probably from the lightning – he bent lightning, he did it –_  pressing hard against the sides of her face.

"I…think so?" Her body trembles, her senses are sluggish, her mind racing a thousand miles ahead of the world as she perceives it.  _I'm okay, I'm okay, there was lightning and…I'm okay…_

"I don't believe it," he mutters, his face is only inches away and his hands are shaking her now, "I could have  _killed you_  – I could barely control it –  _I'm so sorry –_ "

"Please stop that," she tells him gingerly, wincing. Her head is pounding something fierce and her skin feels too hot – every hair of hers feels like it's standing on end –

Without another word, he lets go and stumbles away, his hands raking through his hair in obvious devastation.

" _How_?" he demands, and she's able to process him more clearly now: his face stark white, his golden eyes  _so scared_ … "How did you do that?"

She tries to swallow, but her mouth is too dry, her tongue feels too big for her mouth…

"I think we would  _all_  like to know that," comes General Iroh's resonant voice from some distance away, and she turns her head to see him approaching too, him and Toph and Aang, drawing closer but hesitating too.

"Know what?" She is confused and shaking now, her entire body quivering and trembling as though a thousand volts of electricity have passed through her and left her unscathed.

General Iroh regards her with wide, disbelieving, awestruck eyes and it hits her then that this is  _real, it happened –_

"Zuko!" she turns to face the hapless, devastated prince with his ashen face. Delight enters her voice. " _You did it_! You just bent  _lightning_! Spirits, you should be  _happy_ , why are you so sad?"

"I think she's in shock," Aang whispers worriedly, his face almost as white as Zuko's as she laughs.

"Sifu Katara," General Iroh starts delicately. "Do you… _realize_  what just happened?"

She turns to face him, her face still bright.

"Zuko just bent lightning," she answers, the image of it still fresh in her mind, the bright current of electricity rushing forth from his fingertips as though it was an extension of him…rushing toward her… _at_  her…

It hits her then, why everyone's looking at her with such trepidation, as though she  _should have died._

It's because they're right.

_I should be dead._

"Yes," General Iroh acquiesces, watching the realization dawn over her face. "And  _so did you._ "

* * *

It must have taken General Iroh all the self-control in the world, Katara reflects a little while later in the healing tent with a cooling mud poultice covering her body and hair, to  _stop_  their training  _just_  as they stumbled across the biggest development to date.

_Zuko bent lightning_ , she thinks, a small glow of pride swelling within her.

_And I did too._

The thought of it sits strangely with her.

She bent lightning.

She's a waterbender and  _she bent lightning._

"I'm  _fine_ ," she tells the healer, Jia, some time later as the old woman washes the poultice off, wraps her in a thick warm robe and several blankets, and then examines her critically. "I  _swear_  –"

"I believe you," Jia says firmly, her fingers checking Katara's pulse at her throat, wrists, chest, ankles… "It's certainly a miracle. I have never heard anything like it. So, if you could kindly let an old healer do her job and look after her patient who was  _just hit by lightning…_ "

Katara sighs and lets the old woman fuss over her. Truth be told, she doesn't  _mind_  so much: the bed is comfortable and the little room is cool and dry, and the blankets are  _so warm –_

She doesn't even realize that she's dozed off until she opens her eyes and sees that the light outside the window is dim. Aang and Toph hover by the bedside and on the opposite side of the room, Zuko fusses over the fire in the hearth.

"How are you feeling?" Aang asks, his grey eyes wide and concerned.

"Fine," she insists. "I'm just  _fine_." She glances at them and shuffles under the blankets, feeling somewhat vulnerable and exposed even though she's completely wrapped and covered. "How long have you been here?"

"The healer lady didn't let us in until she was done examining you," Toph says breezily. "Maybe an hour or so?"

"An hour," Katara echoes sceptically. "You've been watching me  _sleep_  for an hour." She quirks an eyebrow. "Didn't you have anything better to do?"

"We were worried about you," Aang says, somewhat reproachfully. "It was –  _really scary_  –"

"Even  _Grandpa_  was scared," Toph says, her voice uncharacteristically solemn. "He said he'd never seen a thing like it and if he'd even thought such a thing was remotely possible, he'd  _never_  have put you in such danger."

"Yeah, well…" Katara squirms uncomfortably, the idea of  _everyone_  fussing about her sitting a little oddly. "I'm okay, alright? I'm fine and was just a little rattled and uh, everything's good. You can all relax now, okay?"

Toph visibly relaxes, Aang less so.

"We just," he tries to explain, "we thought – I don't think you really understand, Katara, what it felt like to people who  _care_  about you, seeing that happen…"

Her expression softens and her heart wobbles uncomfortably in its cage in her chest at that.

_He cares. Everyone cares._

The thought is wrenching. Here,  _so far_  from home and family, for the first time, people  _actually care_  about her. It is so unlikely a thought, and  _so very –_

For a moment, she puts herself in Aang's shoes, wondering what would have run through her mind if she saw  _him_  hit by lightning. Or Toph. Or her brother.

"I'm sorry, Aang," she says softly. "Of course you – you all," she watches them grapple with it in their own way. Aang's worry shining like a lamp in the dark, Toph's hidden behind her tough veneer along with everything else that made her vulnerable,  _Zuko_  in the corner working at the fire trying to be helpful, his back to her, unable to face her because  _he shot lightning at her accidentally –_

"Thank you," she says instead, her voice catching at the lump building in her throat. "It means a lot. And I'll be fine."

"I still can't believe it," Toph remarks, shaking her head. "It was  _unbelievable_ , Sweetness,  _how_  –"

"I redirected it," Katara concedes, closing her eyes. "I don't know how – or why – " she struggles to remember what happened, but it's all a blur in her hyperactive mind, "- but it  _worked_ , I bent it like I'd bend water and it worked…"

"It must be something to do with General Iroh's theory," Aang muses, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. "With the different bending energies acting at each other. There must be something in waterbending that works on lightning, we just have to figure it out –"

" _No_."

The three of them turn their eyes to look at Zuko, who's spoken for the first time that evening. He turns to face them, and there's something firm in the set of his jaw as he crosses his arms.

"We're not figuring  _anything_  out," he continues, his gravelly voice low and fierce.

"What?" Aang asks, somewhat deflated. "What do you mean, Zuko?"

"I mean we're  _done_. With  _all_  of this." He marches up to them, his long, thick hair falling in his eyes, shadowing the sharp lines of his face. "No more  _cross-training_  or  _fusion bending_  or any more of Uncle's gopherbear-brained  _theories_. We're  _done_."

"But –" Aang hesitates at the unusual display from Zuko, usually so silent and impassive. "But we're  _onto_  something, Zuko, we've made more progress  _today_  than we ever had –"

"I don't care," he snaps, his jaw tightening, eyes blazing. "It's too risky. No amount of  _progress_  is worth putting any of you into the healer's tent."

" _Especially not Sweetness_ ," Toph mutters to herself under her breath as she rolls her eyes, her voice barely audible to Katara's ears. She turns to face Zuko, her arms crossed as well. "I get it, Sparky, you're freaked out. We  _all_  are. But Twinkletoes is right. We started this –  _all of us_  – and we decided to give this a go. And you want to make an executive decision to  _stop_ , just now when things are  _finally_  going somewhere?"

"Going  _where_ , Toph?" Zuko counters, with a darkly derisive laugh that sends a chill down Katara's spine. He points at her, supine on her bed underneath the stack of blankets. " _Today_ , I put Katara in the healing tent.  _Tomorrow_ , what next?" He scoffs, his voice mockingly sceptical. "Am I going to have to keep shooting her with lightning until we  _figure out_  what caused it?  _Is_   _that what you want me to do_?" His fingers rake through his hair in agitation. "Is someone going to have to  _die_  before anyone else thinks this isn't worth it?"

" _Calm down_ , Sparky," Toph orders, her jaw set almost as formidably as his. "Nobody's  _dying_. And  _nobody's_  asking you to keep shooting lightning at Sugar Queen here – how on  _earth_  are you being this dramatic –"

"Oh, so you think I'm being  _dramatic_ , do you?" Zuko's voice is angry.

"No, I think you're  _scared_ ," Toph retorts, her voice softening just a touch. "And more than a little guilty. But it was an  _accident_  and it's  _not your fault_ , Sparky, and nobody blames you, okay? Not me, not your uncle, and  _definitely_  not Sweetness over here – who, I  _notice_ , didn't seem too keen on your suggestion of pulling out even though  _she's the one in the healing tent_." She tilts her head, sightless green eyes piercing into Zuko's feral golden ones. "So you can stop blaming yourself now,  _okay_?"

" _I'm not blaming myself_."

His voice is too loud in the small space. Katara wrenches her eyes shut, her discomfort evident.

The motion does not go entirely unnoticed, as Aang turns to Zuko and hisses an audible " _shh_ ", finger to his lips.

"I'm  _not_  –" Zuko fights to compose himself, visibly struggling with the effort to keep his voice down. "I  _just_  – "

"Katara, what do you think?" Aang turns to face the waterbender. His voice is firm and even. "If anyone should be talking about stopping, it's you. After all,  _you're_  the one who got hit by lightning."

"I  _didn't_  get hit by lightning," Katara retorts, with just a hint of annoyance. "I  _redirected_  it, remember?" She turns her eyes to face Zuko's, standing next to her at the head of her bed. "Zuko, I think you're overreacting."

"You didn't see yourself," he counters hotly, but his voice is quiet now and she supposes she should thank him for  _that_  at least. "And what if that was a fluke? Are you really going to gamble your safety on it?"

"If I do, that's a risk I'm willing to take and it's  _my_  decision!" Her eyes flash and the words blurt out of her before she can stop them. "I  _told_  you before. You  _have_  to stop trying to protect me."

He gapes at her as though she's slapped him across the face and at once, she feels guilty for lashing out at him.  _He's probably just worried, you shouldn't have gone for such a low blow._

Toph, sensing the tension rising in the air, takes a quick, sharp breath and cracks her knuckles loudly.

"Aaaand  _that's_  our cue," she announces, marching over to Aang and grabbing him by the arm. "C'mon Twinkletoes, let's go."

And she drags him out of the room, his confusion visible and more than audible.

" _Toph, what are you doing? Get off me!_ "

"No chance," Toph remarks grimly, pulling him along as she exits with him in tow. "They're going to be a while, looks like…"

And then there were two.

Silence descends upon the room, thick and heavy with shades of awkwardness, guilt, and anger.

"Sorry," Katara cedes first. "I shouldn't have lashed out at you. I was just frustrated."

"I shouldn't have tried to protect you," he mumbles, accepting her apology by issuing one in turn. "You're more than capable of taking care of yourself. I just – I just can't stop seeing it in my head."

Her eyes soften then as his gaze drops.

"You were really scared," she realizes, "weren't you?"

" _Scared_?" He repeats the word with a bit of a scoff. "That doesn't even come  _close_. I - I thought I  _killed_  you! I could have! By all rights, I  _should_  have." His voice, rising in intensity, drops even quieter as he leans a bit closer, a hand bracing his weight against her pillow. "Just because you're okay doesn't take that away."

Now it's her turn to gape.

_He really does care._

It is such a tragically foreign sensation to her – the feeling of  _being cared for_  – that something lurches within her. Some instinct that is somehow primal yet vulnerable, silent yet  _powerful_ , overwhelms her in its grasp.  _You're safe here_ , it whispers.

_Safe_.

_Here_.

Her eyes flicker to where his hand rests, dipping into the soft surface of her pillow, just inches from where her head lies against it. She can  _feel_  the heat radiating from it, grazing her cheek – there's warmth emanating from  _all_  of him, come to think –

"I know." Her soft, solemn admission surprises him, but he doesn't pull away. "You're right. This is probably a lot harder on you."

He scoffs again, shaking his head slightly.

"But it was just an  _accident_. Like Toph said. You just need to forgive yourself." Her hands twitch underneath the mass of blankets, and if they hadn't been so heavy, she would have reached out to him. She  _wants_  to. "You  _bent lightning_  today, Zuko. You've never done that before. This – this was a  _good_  thing. Don't let this take that away from you."

"I never want to bend lightning again," he murmurs, his eyes closing shut.

Hers widen in response.

"Oh no. Don't you  _dare_ ," she warns him, her voice sharpening. "We didn't go through  _all those weeks_  of meditating and not bending and me ending up here so that you could just  _give it up_. You're going to conquer this, I  _know_  you will."

His eyes open again and he glances at her in puzzlement.

"How do you  _know_?" he asks her sceptically. "How  _can_  you know?"

She tries to shrug, but through the mass of blankets it is a flicker of motion, nondescript and unassuming.

"Because you always have." She chances a bit of a smile at him. "It's what you do."

He sighs. His face is so close to hers that she  _feels_  it, the brush of warm air against her skin.

"I don't want to hurt you again," he admits.

"I know."

"I never meant to hurt you," he continues, his voice a quiet rasp in her ears. His hand twitches against her pillow, twisting at the soft fabric. She remembers the feeling of them, his strong, warm fingers firm against her face, pressing into her skin the way they press against her pillowcase now – and a part of her wishes  _wildly_ , for a fraction of a second – "I'll never hurt you again."

She is momentarily distracted by the silent ferocity of his promise, all thoughts flying from her mind as she tries to swallow, her mouth dry, her heart beating with something that couldn't  _just_  be adrenaline –

"I know," she whispers instead, her voice unsteady.

They regard each other warily, uncertainly. His face is still close, she realizes, and his lips have pressed tightly together in a firm line and his eyes, still trained on hers,  _burn_  with all the flickering hues of an evening fire and –

He pulls away instead, backing off toward the door slowly. She lets out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding,  _surprised_  by the disappointment that floods through her.

"Zuko," she calls after him, her voice a small uncertain thread. He freezes by the door and turns to look at her questioningly.

She struggles, wondering what to say as suddenly the heavy silence becomes  _oppressive_.

"I'm proud of you," she says instead.

Now he  _really_  looks confused.

"For what?"

Meeting his gaze now is a struggle, she reflects as she makes herself reply.

"For finding your space."

He remains silent, as though he wouldn't know how to respond to that. In the end, he just inclines his head at her in acknowledgment before exiting the room.

And then there was one.

Katara turns onto her side, alone with her thoughts and the thick, heavy silence and the feeling of her pulse slowly returning to normal, lungs learning how to breathe again.

The fire crackles loudly in the corner, the only light in the dark room.

And then –

She  _wishes_ , for a moment, that he was a  _bit_  more like the others.  _Anyone else_  wouldn't have hesitated – a small gesture of comfort, perhaps a touch to the wrist or a clasp of the hands or even a caress of her hair –  _anything_. She knows that if the tables were turned, she wouldn't have hesitated.

But to him,  _touch_  was elusive. He's always been a little distant, a little wary. Even with all of his concern, he's always just out of reach.

_And that's just as well. He's a prince, after all. This is crazy._

She isn't sure of the thought that eventually relaxes her and sends her back to sleep. Perhaps it's the sound of the fire licking at the kindling and spitting faint sparks into the cold night air. Or the weight of the blankets, soft and comforting and safe, enveloping her like a warm cocoon.

It certainly isn't the memory of his hands, hot against her skin.

* * *

"How is she?" Uncle Iroh asks gently, his face creasing with concern as he turns to face his nephew, who has just entered his pavilion.

"Fine," Zuko replies shortly. "She's just fine."

"That's good," Uncle Iroh allows, setting down a sheaf of parchment paper onto the pile on his desk. For a moment, Zuko thinks he can  _hear_  the exhaustion in his uncle's voice. "That's very good, then." He pauses for a moment, before clearing his throat. "Thank you for letting me know."

He turns back to the papers on his desk – the scrolls, the maps, the tactical plans –

"Did you know?" Zuko ventures to guess as his uncle busies himself with his strategizing. "That this might have happened?"

His uncle stills momentarily, but does not face his nephew.

"Because if you did," Zuko continues, his voice level despite himself, "you could have  _warned_  us, you know. We would have still done it. But it would have been nice to know."

"I didn't," his uncle finally admits, and then he turns to face his nephew. His face is ashen. "I  _should have_. But I didn't."

Zuko takes a moment to consider this.

His uncle knows  _everything_. He plays people and manipulates situations as though they're nothing more than pieces on a pai sho table. He plots chains of actions and reactions so far ahead in advance that sometimes, it can seem to the uninitiated, that General Iroh is  _omniscient_.

But sometimes even his uncle forgets that the pieces are  _people_  – living, breathing, feeling people.

It would appear that now was simply one of those times.

Otherwise, he wouldn't appear so shaken at the revelation that testing his theories would have a  _price_. That sometimes, innocent people could get tangled up within his schemes and get hurt.

"Okay," Zuko says instead.

His uncle gives him a searching look.

"Do you forgive me?" he asks gingerly.

"Yes," Zuko answers, truthfully. "But you should be more honest next time."

"I know," his uncle acquiesces. "This whole ordeal has certainly sapped today's discovery of the excitement it deserves." His face breaks into a small smile, as though he's unsure of whether he's allowed to celebrate. "You were finally able to control lightning, my nephew. I am very proud of your development. It cannot have been easy."

"No," Zuko concedes, his gaze falling to the floor briefly. "No, it wasn't."

"You must promise to keep practicing," his uncle tells him, as though guessing at his earlier reservations.

"I will," Zuko promises, raising his gaze again to meet his uncle's with a trace of defiance. "But I'm going to do it  _alone_. I'm not putting her in danger again."

Uncle Iroh falters for a moment at the steely resolve in his voice, unusual in its unhesitating certainty.

"That is probably a wise decision," he acknowledges, his own shoulders slumping. "Have you discussed it with the others?"

"Somewhat." Zuko doesn't back down. "I know they all want to keep exploring this –  _bending_  experiment. I can't take that away from them. I want to know where this goes too.  _But_ ," and there's a note of authority in his voice now, as he continues, eyes fixed on his uncle's, "we're going to do it  _safely_. I'm not going to have the others throwing themselves in front of lightning until I  _know_  I can control it."

His uncle surveys him appraisingly.

"That seems like a fair compromise," he agrees at last. "I think that is a responsible course of action from hereon in."

"Good." With the conclusion of the conversation, Zuko's resolve bursts into a million tiny pieces. He inclines his head shortly. "Good night, Uncle."

He turns to leave.

"Zuko, wait." His uncle has turned to face his desk again, and shuffles through a pile of scrolls. "I have a letter for you."

Zuko turns to face his uncle with mounting curiosity.

"For me?" he echoes in confusion as his uncle turns back to him and presses a scroll into his hand.

"Yes," Uncle Iroh says, his tone giving nothing away. "It appears to have gotten mixed in with my messages."

Zuko examines the partially unfurled scroll of heavy parchment, its red wax seal cracked, the royal flame insignia broken but still clear –

"Did you read it?" he asks his uncle, eyes widening, heartbeat racing as he realizes what it must  _mean_  –

His uncle shrugs.

"I thought it was one of mine until I realized it was not. Then I stopped."

_A letter from home_. Whenever Zuko gets one of those, they're usually from his uncle.

"Is everything okay?" he asks cautiously, his fingers shaking as he unrolls the parchment and smooths it out.

"For now." His uncle turns his gaze away.

Lighting a flame in his palm, Zuko brings it closer to the letter, illuminating the fine script traced in black ink.

His heart pounds as he begins to read its contents.

_My beloved son,_

_I hope that you will at least read the contents of this letter once before consigning it to the bottom of your hearth._

_I know there is nothing I can say to convince you that these last years have been almost as difficult for me as they have been for you. Nor is there anything I can tell you to express how deeply I regret losing you. The fault is mine and mine alone. But for what it's worth, whether you believe me or not, I am sorry._

_I am so sorry that I wasn't a stronger mother, sorry that I couldn't protect you better. Everything I did, everything I've done, has been for you and perhaps, selfishly, for me, in hopes of atoning for what I couldn't do back then._

_I wish I could have fought back against him and his decision, I wish I could have stood up for you like a true mother should have, and above all else, I wish that you did not have to spend the better part of your adolescence convinced that your family does not love you. I know from your uncle's communications that you have not gone completely without love, but my guilt still won't let me sleep at night._

_Maybe one day, you'll understand and in understanding, forgive me._

_But that is another matter. I write to alert you to another, perhaps of which you remain unaware._

_Your grandfather, Emperor Azulon, was poisoned some time ago. It was an assassination attempt that did not go as planned. The chief healer was apprehended and found guilty, due to his ties with the resistance based in New Ozai. Nevertheless, your grandfather was severely incapacitated. I understand that the poison used was extremely complicated and lethal, and the healers have been working hard to delay the inevitable. But there is only so much they can do, my son. And as time passes, the inevitable draws ever nearer._

_Things are tense here and I wish that you did not have to be so far away. Whatever happened in the past, we can work past it. Your father's hours are occupied with matters of state and he is not the same hot-headedly irrational man he was so many years ago. Ruling has changed him and made him a man that could maybe be worthy of being your father. If you came back home, perhaps you could decide for yourself._

_The worst is coming, Zuko. No matter what has happened, now is not the time for family to be divided. Come home and everything will take care of itself._

_I love you more than words can reliably convey, more than you can possibly know._

_Yours,_

_Mother_

His fingers crush the parchment almost instinctively. Water wells in his eyes, instantly blurring the world around him.

He dashes at his eyes with the back of his hand before they have a chance to weep.

"It's –" he struggles, trying to wrestle with the whirlwind of emotion swirling inside him, "it's from Mother."

"It would appear so," his uncle says, nodding.

"They want me back," he rasps, his voice hoarser than usual for the lump growing in his throat. "She wants me back  _home_. She says she…she says that it'll be okay. That my father –  _he_  –"

The idea sits so uncomfortably within him that for a moment, the world sways dangerously around him.

"Take a seat," his uncle suggests kindly, helping him into a plush armchair across from his desk. "I understand that this comes as a shock to you –"

"A  _shock_?" Zuko echoes incredulously. "My father –  _after everything he did_  – " his voice rises in indignant protest, "- and they just want me to come  _back_? To  _forget_?"

"I thought that was what you wanted," Uncle Iroh tells him solemnly, settling into another chair across from him. "To be reconciled with your family after all these long years apart?"

"I –"

All this time apart and now, suddenly, everything is moving _too fast_  for Zuko to think straight. His body trembles violently and his thoughts are whirling around in his head, too fast for him to process.

"I thought I did too," he whispers at last, burying his face in his hands. " _All this time –_ "

_This was all I ever wanted. To go home and forget this all ever happened._

Hell, a part of him still  _does_.

"But –" he forces out, the realization washing over him with the cold slap of reality, "I – I can't go back like  _this_. I did nothing wrong, why should I wait for them to forgive me?" His reservations coalesce around this kernel of truth, this  _one_ , hard, cold fact that not even the voice in his mind that sounds like his father can twist and take away from him. "What about  _me_?  _My_  forgiveness? What if  _I_  don't forgive? Doesn't that  _matter_?"

"It should," his uncle says heavily. "But if you are holding your breath waiting for an apology from my brother, Zuko, you will have to wait a while longer yet. I have never known him to regret anything."

"Then – what –  _how_  –" Zuko's fingers crumple the parchment even more. "Then  _what is this_? Why does she want me to come home  _now_?"

His uncle levels him with a very piercing gaze.

"Because Princess Ursa is your mother," he says calmly, maybe even a little sadly, "and your mother loves you."

" _Bullshit_ ," Zuko all but snarls back, his face darkening. "She never  _loved_  me, she only ever did what my father  _told her_  to do –"

"Your mother was never raised to be a woman of the court," his uncle reminds him gently. "The day my father plucked her from the healer's academy and set her by my brother's side as his bride was as much a surprise to  _her_  as it was to all of us. She was never strong enough for your father. Whatever she felt in her heart may not have been enough to remove whatever compulsion drove her to –"

"She's  _weak_ ," Zuko cuts him off, his voice shaking, "she's  _weak_  and  _scared_  and –"

_And I'm just like her._

" _She couldn't even write to me properly_ ," he complains, his ire raging within him now, "she had to  _accidentally_  send it to you. Like a  _coward_."

"Consider the possibility that it might have been part of the message," Uncle Iroh points out shrewdly. "A letter addressed to  _you_  may have been intercepted on your father's behalf. This may not have been your mother's first attempt to contact you."

His words ring pointedly in the air.

Zuko tries to imagine it – his mother, writing letter after letter to him, only for the messages to be intercepted and redirected to his father. He imagines the extent of his father's displeasure at her disobedience, the desperation it must have taken for her to reach out to his uncle –

A part of him feels sorry for his mother. She was a delicate soul, too gentle by half for the palace and certainly more so for his father. But the rest of him recoils at the pity and can't help but resent her for it.

_I could have been strong like Azula and my father. Instead I turned out weak, just like Mother._

"You said my father had her confined to the tower," Zuko speaks at last, facing his uncle. "Because she was having night terrors?"

"Among other things," Uncle Iroh agrees with a slow nod. "I have never seen your father so concerned with her well-being."

"Mother says that he's changed." Zuko's voice is bitter. "That ruling has made him a  _better man_." He cannot disguise the contempt that enters his voice. "That he isn't as  _hot-headed_  and  _irrational._ "

"Did she?" His uncle raises an eyebrow and his tone gives nothing away. There is no indication,  _none_ , about how he feels about his younger brother's grasping ambitions, and yet… "That is a credit I would not have thought to award him. My brother is not known for being level-headed."

"You're telling me," Zuko grumbles darkly. "Mother says that the worst is coming. That I should just go home and everything will  _take care of itself_." He scoffs in disbelief. "Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"So you will not return home then?"

" _No_." Zuko can't say what compulsion drives him to deny his mother's invitation with such certainty. He can't describe if it's obstinacy, petulant indignation, or sheer outrage that the request hadn't even originated from his father. "I won't."

"That is probably wise," his uncle agrees. "At any rate, you are safer here. I have also instructed Lu Ten to stay away from the capital. As is with our family, things are not always what they seem and until the facts become more apparent, I think you are safer here, surrounded by your friends."

"I did almost get assassinated here though," Zuko points out wryly.

"Yes, and it would have succeeded. Fortunately for you, your attackers reckoned without the interventions of Sifu Toph and Katara," his uncle counters. "I hesitate to think of what might have happened had you been in the palace when the assassin attacked you."

"Probably the same fate that awaits the emperor," Zuko sighs heavily. "I assume that nobody back home is pulling for him to make a miraculous recovery?"

"Mm." Uncle Iroh's face is grim now. "On that account, your mother is correct. My father's health is  _not_  improving. The palace healers have confirmed to me in their reports," he gestures at a pile of papers behind him, "that he is declining, and quickly. They urge me to return home."

"Then why are you  _here_?" Zuko demands. "Why  _aren't_  you going home?"

His uncle does not meet his gaze.

"I am needed here," he replies insubstantially.

"You're needed at  _home_  too," Zuko counters, his voice hot. "I don't get it. Things are  _bad_. Don't you…don't you  _want_  to see your father one last time?"

"I already have," Uncle Iroh says wearily. "Do you imagine your father will let me near him now? My father is as much a prisoner to him as your mother is." He sighs sadly. "I cannot help but think that when the end comes for my father, it will be a blessed release."

Zuko struggles, trying to find something to say in response that would be appropriate without sounding trite or insensitive.

"There is nothing I can do for him now," his uncle continues doggedly. "But here, at least, I – I know I am doing a service of  _some good._ "

"Until you get recalled to the capital when he dies," Zuko realizes, his eyes widening. "You – you want to see this  _Avatar_  project through personally, as much as you can, before you get called back to rule."

"That, among other things," his uncle agrees, inclining his head.

"But – but  _why_? Why this? Why  _now_?" Zuko has been wondering for  _months_  now, what this has all been about, and still can't come up with a good reason. "We  _won_. Sozin conquered the Earth kingdom and Azulon won over the Air Nomads and my father brought the Water Tribes under his heel. There's  _nothing left_  to conquer. Why – why the army? Why this sudden interest in the Avatar? What's the  _point_?"

"The point?" His uncle gives a dark chuckle, shaking his head. "What is the point of anything at all? What is the point of power, of fighting, of order?  _Conquest_  is simple. But  _ruling_  is hard. Do you think it is easy to maintain such a large empire, with such different people with their own tensions, all under one person's rule? War is easy, Prince Zuko. But  _peace_  is something else altogether." He looks away. "I thought that by striving for  _balance_ , I could show them a different way. Perhaps I have been misguided. Perhaps it is our lot to squabble and fight among ourselves until our end. But when you see the end within your grasp, do you not try for it?"

"Not if you have to compromise everything else to get there," Zuko parries uncertainly, starting to feel out of his depth as his uncle grows more remote.

"But what if that's the  _point_?" his uncle presses. "The lessons of mastery in  _everything_  teach us that only by sacrificing all that binds you can you transcend. Think of  _meditation_. Think of  _lightning_. Think of the  _white lotus_  –"

"Are you  _honestly_  basing your entire strategy off a gambit in an old person's board game?" Zuko bites out in frustration. "This isn't a game of pai sho, Uncle, this is  _real life –_ "

"I have always said," his uncle cuts him off firmly, "that pai sho is not just a game."

"What, so," Zuko can't fight the incredulous laugh that erupts from his mouth as he shakes his head, "you think that everything is going to fall in line like we're all just pieces on your board? That we're all just light and dark tiles and one day, you're going to have us all arranged neatly in your pattern so that you can magically play your  _white lotus tile_  and just like that, everything will be okay?"

"It's worked so far." But despite the confidence of his assertion, Zuko can hear the doubt in his uncle's voice.

" _You believe it_ ," he whispers, aghast.  _Mai was right. He_ is _a crazy old man_. "You – you actually believe it. You're gambling  _everything_  on it."

"What are my other options?" his uncle counters sharply, his voice like thunder. "What do  _you_  think? Should I be more like my father? Like  _your_  father? Should I close my ears and blindly maintain the way things  _are_ , ignoring the increased suffering of those in our territories and our colonies because even though they are part of our empire, they are not  _equal_  to our Fire Nation citizens? These are the countrymen of  _your_  friends, of  _my_  friends. Should I allow them to rot in their despair and their anger, crushing rebellion after rebellion with fire and violence, all so that you and yours can enjoy a life of prosperity back in the capital? Is that what  _peace_  looks like to you?" He fixes his nephew with a fierce stare. "Because if it is, you have learned  _nothing_  from me."

"That's not what I…" Zuko quails under his uncle's iron gaze, because even though he's a crazy old man, he's  _right_  and Zuko has spent far too much time with people who  _aren't_  Fire Nation to know that. "I just meant…it won't be easy…you're taking a  _huge_  risk –"

"Of course I am. Do you think I haven't considered the cost? I only said that this was something that had to be done. I  _never_  said it would be easy." Now it is his uncle's turn to shake his head.

"I'm just trying to understand, Uncle. Is this really  _that_  important to you?" Zuko asks him quietly, sincerely. "More important than the  _throne_?"

His uncle shrugs.

"What good is the throne if you must sacrifice all that it serves?" he replies, shrugging. "Save the kingdom and the crown will follow, that has always been my philosophy."

"I don't know if that'll be enough," Zuko observes doubtfully. "You think my father will just  _hand_  you the crown without putting up a fight?"

"Of course not," his uncle retorts confidently, a hand running through his beard. "But your father's ambition is petty and stale. He will not jeopardize the empire to put a crown on his own head. He will never allow the stakes to rise that high."

"He's done it before," Zuko can't help but point out. "With the Water Tribes. He allowed a peaceful negotiation devolve into all-out war and cultural  _genocide_  because of his ambitions."

"And look at what that cost him," Uncle Iroh replies calmly. "I would not gladly repeat such a mistake again, if I was my brother."

"But you're not," Zuko argues. "You  _know_  him. You know he's a monster."

"Yes," Uncle Iroh allows. "But he is also only a man. And I happen to know that  _this_  man became a monster out of fear and spite. He  _will_  fall in line because I will not give him a choice. And he knows it. This is a zero-sum game we are playing, after all. He bares his teeth like a feral creature in captivity because he knows he is trapped. And because I have trapped him, I let him bare his teeth. It is a vicious but predictable cycle."

"Well," Zuko comments, now at a loss for words in face of his uncle's serenely ruthless assessment of the situation. "As long as you're sure."

"Of course I'm sure. He's my  _brother_. I have known him longer than he has known himself," his uncle insists. "When the time comes, he will back down. I promise."

"And then what?" Zuko inquires, his tone dubious. "You get your crown and we all live happily ever after like one big happy family?"

He doesn't fight the sarcasm that drips from his words.

Uncle Iroh sighs and raises a hand to rub at his temples.

"Not exactly."

* * *

She wakes up in the healer's tent the next morning, feeling oddly restless.

"Can I go?" she asks the healer, Jia, as the grizzled old woman feeds her breakfast with a spoon. "I'm fine. I feel fine. There's no damage to anything."

"That appears to be correct," Jia allows with a sigh. "Very well. After breakfast, you may resume your regular duties.  _With caution._ "

"Yes ma'am," Katara bobs her head vigourously in response. "Thank you."

_I'm going crazy cooped up in here._

"Remember to be  _careful_ ," Jia warns her as she jumps out of bed and strips out of her infirmary robe and back into her oversized army uniform and blue robe. "And for Agni's sake, the next time someone bends lightning at you,  _move out of the way._ "

"Yes, ma'am," Katara echoes, surreptitiously crossing her fingers behind her back so that the healer can't see her duplicity. "Absolutely."

She undoes her hair and then re-braids it, wishing for a comb to better tame the thick, wavy strands.

"You really do look fine," Jia marvels, watching Katara's fingers move dexterously along her long, dark braid, weaving the strands into place. "It is unbelievable."

"It really is," Katara agrees, tying the end into place and flipping the braid over her shoulder so that it hangs back down at her waist. "Yet, here we are."

"I really have never seen anything like this," Jia confesses, somewhat haplessly. "I don't really know what to expect."

"Well, join the club, then." Katara can't say  _where_  this restless, upbeat attitude has come from, only that it's a new day and the air  _tastes_  different and everything seems like it'll be okay. "Thank you very much for looking out for me, though. I really do appreciate it."

By now, she's known Jia long enough to know that the old woman wouldn't let any of her preconceived notions get in the way of doing her job, and  _that_ , she supposes, is admirable in its own way.

"I was only doing my duty," Jia says with a shrug. "I am glad that you're alright, though."

Katara nods at the old woman again, as they step out of the little room and into the hallway.

"Thanks again," she calls after the healer as Jia walks the other way, back to the entrance of the healing tent.

Jia waves her hand in acknowledgement.

Katara sighs, before she remembers.

_Well. Since I'm here anyway…_

She turns and walks along the hallway, stopping in front of another room whose location she's memorized by now.

Feeling a little guilty for not even  _checking in_  until now, she pushes the door-flap aside and steps into the doorway.

To her surprise, Chan is out of bed and  _upright_ , holding himself up gingerly using a set of parallel bars that certainly had not been there the last time she'd seen him.

"I see you're on your feet again," she remarks, before she can stop herself.

Chan's head whips around to the door in surprise, his eyes widening as he sees her standing there.

" _Ah_!" he lets out a scream, clearly caught off guard, before losing his balance and toppling over onto the ground.

Katara winces as he goes down.

"Well…barely." She makes her way over to his side, kneeling down beside him as he struggles to right himself.

"You  _startled me_ ," he gasps in reproach, shifting his weight to his center.

"Ah well," Katara concedes apologetically, holding out her hand, "I guess I have that effect on people."

He grumbles, but accepts her hand anyway.

"You're one to talk," he mutters, frowning as she helps him get onto his feet and regain his balance using the bars. "What brings  _you_  back here all of a sudden?"

"What do you mean?" Now it's Katara's turn to frown as she watches him practice how to walk with support and breathe at the same time. "I'm supposed to be  _healing you_ , remember?"

"Do  _I_  remember?" he echoes, and his sullen voice is filled with indignation now. "I'd ask  _you_  the same question, but you haven't stopped by in  _ages_."

She winces again at the accusation in his voice, and the guilt returns.

"Sorry. General Iroh's orders," she explains shortly, apologetically. She shrugs helplessly. "I couldn't even  _use_  my bending until a day ago, I'd have been useless help, and then uh –"

"Yeah, you got hurt in some training accident, the healer told me," Chan finishes for her, somewhat carelessly. He tilts his head, suddenly staring at her as though in a new light. "Wait, so you spent  _all night_  here and you  _still_  came by to see me?"

"Well…yeah," Katara is taken aback by his apparent surprise, " _obviously_."

" _Why_?" Chan challenges, bewildered.

"Because…I was supposed to heal you," Katara answers in confusion, wondering  _where_  this is all coming from, "and I hadn't checked in on you in a while and I thought I should, so I  _did_."

Chan is silent for some time, taking his time to digest her words.

_He never was the sharpest spade in the stack_ , she thinks to herself dismissively, before –

"That's…" Chan stammers at last, breaking the silence, "…that's  _really nice of you._ "

Katara turns her gaze to meet his sharply, but to her astonishment, he looks  _touched_.

_Spirits damn it all, he's serious._

She doesn't know why that irritates her so much.

"I didn't do it to be  _nice_ ," she retorts, spitting the word back in his face and crossing her arms defensively.

What did he  _think_? That she was doing this out of the generosity of her heart?  _Spirits_ , she was only doing this because General Iroh  _told her to –_

_And because it makes you feel less guilty_ , she remembers.  _You're doing this for you, not for him._

The distinction doesn't make her too sure about which of the two of them is being more selfish.

"Probably makes you nicer," Chan admits, uncharacteristically sombre. He pauses, his gaze briefly dipping to the floor. "Not like me."

_Huh?_

Katara surveys him critically.

_Is he…?_

"No," she agrees, shifting her weight as she takes a step back. " _Definitely_  not like you."

Chan's grip on the bars tightens, knuckles turning white and  _suddenly it clicks –_

"Wait," she says slowly, carefully. "Are you saying that you… _missed me?_ "

Her voice rises at the end in question.

Chan snaps out of it like she's dashed cold water all over his face.

" _No_ ," he retorts reflexively, his voice almost a sneer before he gives way, just a little. "Well, okay  _fine_  maybe a little – but – do you have any idea how  _slow_  it is, being healed by someone else?"

"Oh, is  _that_  what it's all about?" Katara can't help the scoff that enters her voice as she tosses her head imperiously. "And here I thought you were, I don't know,  _apologizing_."

" _Apologizing_?" Chan's handsome features twist around the word, but his words sound a little forced to her ears. He struggles to follow through. "Why – why on earth would I  _apologize_  to you?"

_He's full of it_ , Katara realizes slowly, watching the discomfort spread over him as he grapples with it too,  _it's total bullshit and he knows it._

"I could think of a few reasons." Her hands shift to her hips, and her voice is calm.

"Yeah – yeah  _right_ ," Chan parries feebly, looking away now. "In your  _dreams_."

"Oh?" Her face splits into a smirk, sly and gloating as she steps closer to him and he tries to shuffle back, unable to meet her knowing gaze. "Then why'd you  _miss_  me?"

"I _didn't miss you_ ," he tries to counter, trying to hang on to a thread of the old attitude she found so irritating before, "I just – I – you're just  _much_  better looking than the other healer, that's all."

He crosses his hands across his chest stubbornly, loses balance again, and promptly falls over again.

Katara presses a fist against her mouth to stifle the giggle that's making it's way out of her throat.

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure," she agrees incredulously, shaking her head. "That must be it. Thank you for the compliment."

"That wasn't a  _compliment_ ," Chan protests weakly, now trying to crawl away.

"You just said I was  _pretty_ ," Katara reminds him, kneeling down to his level again. She tilts her head, unsure of  _why_  she feels so very triumphant right now. "If that's  _not_  a compliment, Chan, you should probably work on your insults."

"I just said you were better looking than that other old woman," he grumbles, curling into a ball, pathetic and sad and vulnerable like a sulking  _child_. "I didn't say you were  _pretty_."

"Right." Katara lets it slide and decides to be gracious, because that's what  _winners_  did and Chan's detestable but  _some part of him is already sorry_  and she's more than happy to divide and conquer. She glances at him and the flush on his face, and then at the set of bars above them, and then lets out a sigh. "Well…let's see if we can get you off those bars soon then, yeah?"

She holds out her hand.

Grumbling and muttering under his breath, he takes it.

She grins.

* * *

The next chance she gets, Jun all but marches into the seedy pub on the lower ring. She takes her usual seat by the bar and flips her long black hair over her shoulder, as though in an act of defiance.

A quick scan of the area tells her that her pursuer is nowhere to be found.  _Yet_.

She forces herself to act relaxed, even as the bartender sidles over to stand across from her.

"What can I do you for, miss?"

Jun's eyebrow furrows as she looks up at the unfamiliar face.

"Where's Wei?" she asks with a scowl.

The bartender shrugs.

"Dunno. No one's seen him the last few days. My uncle knows someone who owns the place, thought I'd be okay minding the bar in the meanwhile."

_They must have taken him_ , Jun realizes, staring the new guy down with a blank look in her eyes. Something like guilt twists in her gut.  _Those Dai Li bastards must have gotten to him._

"Maybe he's sick," she says absently, twirling a strand of shiny black hair around her finger.

"Could be," the new bartender agrees. "What did you say you wanted, miss?"

_The usual_ , Jun wants to say, but Wei is nowhere to be found and it's  _her fault_  for getting him mixed up in all this unsavouriness.

"A pint of dark," she says instead, and then glares at him. "And don't you  _miss_  me. Name's Jun."

"Jun, huh?" the bartender repeats, a smile crossing his face. "Well,  _you're_  a pretty one, anyone tell you that?"

"No," Jun retorts sardonically, looking away. Her tolerance for the new bartender, young and cute as he is, plummets with every passing second. "No one ever. I'd never have known without you, you know."

He smiles at her, evidently mistaking her snark for interest.

"You can call me Pang," he introduces himself.

"I'll call you  _the guy who gets my beer,_ " Jun interrupts him. "Speaking of which – where's my beer?"

He smiles at her again.

"Which one did you want again, miss Jun?"

She rolls her eyes.

"The dark," she repeats herself, trying not to think of Wei and whether he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere, or if the Dai Li had spared him and kept him alive –

"I heard you," the bartender who called himself Pang admits tritely. "Which one's the dark one?"

She looks at him frostily as he hovers haplessly over the three polished brass knobs.

"The dark one's the  _dark one_ ," she tells him witheringly. "It's  _literally_  the darkest knob – ugh, forget it, just give me whatever –"

He bobs his head apologetically at her, proceeds to fill a cup with something that's half foam, half golden liquid, and sets it down before her.

"Sorry about that, miss Jun," he says, but she waves him off.

"Get lost," she orders without looking at him.

He hesitates for a moment, before finally complying.

She lets out a long, exasperated sigh before taking a swig from her cup and wincing at the watery taste of its contents.

_The fool gave me a blonde. I can't drink this piss._

She regards the drink critically, wondering if it was even worth consuming, before deciding that it wasn't. Reaching into her pocket, she withdraws a few coins and slides them onto the bar – that bumbling  _idiot_  Pang wouldn't be getting a tip for screwing up her beer – before sliding out of her seat and making for the door.

_Perfect_ , she thinks to herself sourly.  _This is shaping up to be a real promising night. No Lee, no Jet, and now, no Wei. Even that Dai Li tail –_

"I beg your pardon," says a man's voice directly in her ear and she freezes at the sound of it, deep and quiet and smooth, like cultured silk. "You must be the infamous Jun."

_Guess I spoke too soon on that front._

The long-haired man was back and whoever it was, he did not hail from the lower ring and most certainly did  _not_  belong here.

She turns slowly to face the man who's materialized by her side.

A glance at his posture and the way he stands solves the mystery of how he'd disappeared the other day without her noticing.  _The man's an earthbender, and a damn good one at that._

"That's me," she replies, deliberately unaffected. "And you are…?"

The man smiles. Up close, he is darker than she'd initially guessed, with small green eyes, slanting eyebrows, and a broad nose in a strong-jawed face. His moustache and goatee are severely and precisely trimmed, as though to not detract from his receding hairline and long dark braid.

"Call me a friend," he says, and though his voice is amiable enough, something about him sets Jun's nerves on end.

"That's awfully presumptuous of you," she parries, placing a hand on her hip and brushing the hilt of her whip, tucked out of sight by her belt. "What makes you say that?"

The man inclines his head.

"Friends look out for one another," he illuminates, his hand gesturing vaguely as he speaks. "They warn you when your actions put you…close to danger."

_And there it is. The knife he's going to put in my back._

Jun raises an eyebrow.

"And am I?" she asks lightly, casually shifting her weight on her feet. "Close to danger, that is?"

The man tilts his head slightly to the side and smiles without warmth or humour. The sight of it is blood-chillingly sinister.

"Would I be here if you were not?"

By now, Jun is  _convinced_  that something is up. Ever since she started investigating into the origins of the Grand Lotus's knife, she has been tripping head and foot into the Dai Li. While she can't put a name to the owner of the knife, by now she would be prepared to bet a very large sum of money that it was Dai Li property – and  _worse_ , that it was implicated in some very illegal activity. All the inexplicable disappearances – Jet and his freedom fighters, Wei, the rest of the lower ring regulars – it all  _stinks_  of Dai Li and Jun curses the day she ever got mixed up in all this.

But  _this_  – this brazen, open display of aggression by the Dai Li, to  _intimidate_  her and tell her to back down?

_Hell no._

"I don't know," Jun counters indifferently, with undisguised contempt in her voice. She shrugs. "It's not my business how you spend your time."

She tries to walk past him, but he sidesteps to cut her off and block her path.

"You've been asking a lot of questions," he says quietly, "about certain individuals of – of  _considerable_  disrepute." The false, unnerving smile vanishes from his face. "As a friend, I would advise you to end this."

Jun meets his glassy eyes with her own.

_Screw you too, asshole._

"Thanks for the concern," she answers coolly. "But as a rule, I don't tend to take a lot of advice from strange men in bars."

The man doesn't budge.

"I would advise you to reconsider," the man says, his thin lips twisting into a smirk. "Or would you prefer the fate of the unfortunate young man who tended the bar?"

His eyes glitter malevolently in the dim light.

Jun sees red at his taunt.

"Listen,  _friend_ ," she hisses furiously, marching right up to the man and shoving her face so close to his that they are almost nose-to-nose. "I don't  _tolerate_  threats. I  _make_  them." A beat, while she lets him digest her words. "So you can skulk back to whatever skunkrat-hole you crawled out from, and if you're  _not_  out of my sight within the next ten seconds, I'm going to teach you exactly what  _close to danger_  means."

The man's eyes widen slightly, as though her boldness surprises him.

"That was a mistake, Jun," he says quietly, the smirk vanishing from his face. Without it, he appears austere and completely without compassion. He takes a step back. "I would watch my back if I were you."

"Yeah?" Jun counters defiantly, her hand closing around a vial stashed in her belt. "Well,  _you're_  about to get a faceful of distilled shirshu venom. It isn't my idea of  _pleasant._ So, if  _I_  were you, I'd take my own advice and get the hell out of my way."

She brandishes the innocuous-looking vial in his face.

He raises an eyebrow, before sweeping the hood of his cloak over his head and walking away.

Jun follows him with her eyes, noting how the ground swallows him up outside the door. She lets out a shaky exhale and her hackles lower.

She'd been tailed and marked by the Dai Li as an official disturber of the peace. And she'd gone and  _threatened_  one of their agents while she was at it.

"Well,  _I'm_  in trouble," she murmurs to herself, feeling uncharacteristically nervous for once.

Replacing the vial at her belt, she brushes her hand against the neatly-wrapped green knife, the source of all her current troubles.

_Oh Grandpa_ , she thinks tensely.  _What have you gotten me into?_

* * *

Zuko rises early the next morning, well before the sun begins its slow ascent along the line of the horizon. He pulls on a dark cloak to protect against the cold air of the early morning and slips out of his room.

His feet tread the path silently, by memory. His thoughts are a whirl but strangely, a quiet one. The grounds are empty, silent as the grave.

He makes his way to the clearing, pulling the cloak tighter around him as the air chills. The breeze is more insistent at this time of day. It nips at the exposed skin on his cheeks, his fingers. His breath fogs before him.

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply,  _feeling_  the cold vanish as within him, the air turns to heat.

_There is a fire in you_ , he tells himself quietly, gently, with a certainty that he's lacked before but has somehow stumbled across, perhaps quite by accident,  _that he can't take away._

The confusion rages in him. The conflict threatens to tear him apart. And yet, his mind is still.

_Whatever happens from now_ , he thinks,  _is out of your control._

It's the same thing he's been telling himself all along, the same thing his father's voice has whispered to him all these dark years. And yet, it doesn't fill him with despair now to hear it, not so much as –

_And whatever happens_  – he settles into a low, grounded stance, feet wide apart, hands level with his stomach, -  _you will manage._

Because  _that's_  what this has all been about, and  _that's_  what's separated him from Azula, and  _that's_  what he can no longer rely on others to provide.

_You won't be alone_  – his hands rotate in opposing circles, slow, steady, assured –  _you've never been alone. You could have given in at any time. Swallowed your pride, begged for forgiveness, and crawled back to them. But you didn't._

Conviction. He has been running from it all these years, chasing one avenue of escape after another to avoid the truth staring at him in the eyes.

_You're here, you've always been here, not because you had nowhere else to go, but because you chose this._

He's let too many people get hurt trying to help him find it. Mai, his uncle,  _Katara_  –

_No more. Enough is enough._

If his father thinks that he can use his mother as a mouthpiece to  _manipulate_  him – dangle the carrot from a line and expect him, half-starving, to  _jump_  for it without any heed for the consequences, he has another thing coming.

The quiet resolve floods within him, as he channels it into feeling the separation within him.

_I don't forgive him_ , he thinks and the epiphany is almost blinding in its resonance,  _my forgiveness is not for him to command._

His father was  _wrong_  and even if he never apologized for it, Zuko realizes that this is  _one thing_  he will always have over him.

_He might have disgraced me in front of everyone. Humiliated me. Exiled me. Taken everything away from me. Everything but one._

The raw power of the divided energies within him mounts to its zenith. He doesn't grow excited, doesn't try to fight or control the inevitable, doesn't project anything at all.

In this moment before he lunges forward, he just  _is_.

In this moment,  _it all makes sense._

His honour is his own, his destiny is his to choose, and whatever hell the future holds for him in its clutches, he will fight it with everything he has because that is what he has  _always done_. It's never held back, not once, and  _this time_ , from  _now on_ , he's  _ready_  to give it back.

And in this moment, as he lunges forward, hands crashing together, he accepts it all and  _surrenders_.

And then –

The lightning erupts from his fingertips, a crash of fearsome blue light bright in the dark sky.

He opens his eyes.

A single tear rolls down his face. He dashes at it slowly with the back of his hand.

_You can do this. Everything will be okay._

And for the first time since he can remember, he  _believes it._

* * *

**author's notes.**  AHH MY BABIES look at them go

regarding the lightning redirection: my headcanon was that iroh "invented" it with pakku during some early white lotus bonding sessions, much in the same way zuko and katara stumble upon it here. so that's where that came from... speaking of which, this wasn't exactly what i had in mind last chapter when i said that things would be "lightening up". but, in lieu of the usual angst train, have some zutara hurt/comfort and warm fuzzies instead!

OTOH _, next_  chapter will  _actually_  be more lighthearted (but for real though). i've been planning a slice-of-life,  _tales of ba sing se-_ esque sort of thing because it's one of the last opportunities i'll have for that before the plot ramps up into high gear again. aaand i need a break and so do you! i'm even thinking i might take a request or two for a POV/scene for anyone interested in seeing anything particular (provided it doesn't derail any long-term plans already in place)

holler if you want it! reviews feel almost as good as 47 pages of neverending chapter :3


	20. falling so slow (pt. v: moments)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anticipation and excitement run high as a major fire nation holiday approaches.

**disclaimer.** atla & all its derivations are property of bryke. i'm just a girl who needs a better hobby.

**author's notes.**  and here it is: the titanic, long-winded, light-heartedish, teens-will-be-teens, tying-up-old-loose-ends, wannabe  _tales of ba sing se_  nonsense chapter you've all been waiting for! (with some elements of  _the waterbending scroll_ ,  _the beach_ , and  _the headband_  sprinkled in as well, because i am nothing if not a glutton for punishment)

…just kidding. this is so radically outside of my comfort zone, i'm almost relieved to jump back onto the angst train next chapter when the plot returns.  _almost._

**a strong mature content** _(and cringe)_ **warning**  as this chapter contains several rather frankly detailed (though sorely needed imho) discussions about sex, sexuality, and sexiness...in case that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable. some parts are so far gone they may even be considered downright trash. such conclusions i leave for you, discerning readers, to draw on your own. i apologize in advance...but also am not sorry.

thanks to everyone who's been following along and commenting with your feedback, comments, and guesses! i should also probably mention that the different stories that appear here are thematically inspired by (and named after) the music of rem, queen, oasis, the beatles, the who, cyndi lauper, simon & garfunkel, and david bowie. (a bit of a retro throwback soundtrack, if you will)

anyway,

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter xx.**  falling so slow  _(pt v: moments)_

* * *

_this is for the ones who stand_  
_for the ones who try again_  
_for the ones who need a hand_  
_for the ones that think they can_

"it comes and goes (in waves)"/greg laswell

* * *

THE TALE OF: AANG

_or,_

_(losing my religion)_

"Right, let's take that from the top.  _Again_."

Aang sighs as he trudges over to the scuffed spot of earth in the clearing, the site of the target. He stretches his arms out up above his head, feeling the joints in his shoulders and elbows pop and groan.

_Yeah. I feel you too_ , he thinks glumly.

He tries not to focus on Zuko who's taken up his spot directly across from him, several feet away – partly for accuracy's sake ( _"if someone's going to attack you with lightning, they'll probably do it from some distance away, not point blank_ "), and partly because he just doesn't want to think about it.

"Remember," Katara is saying to him tersely, bundled up in layers and layers of oversized uniform in the biting cold air, "to not let it hit your heart, Aang."

"Yup," he nods briskly, "got it."

"You need to direct it to the next closest chakra," she continues her instruction, tracing the line of the path for him to see, "probably your stomach, or even  _lower_ , if you can –"

"I'll try the stomach," Aang says quickly, outlining the pathway with his finger for her to see, to help him visualize the flow, "I don't know if I'll be able to hold onto it longer than that."

"And remember to just  _let it flow_ ," she reminds him, "don't  _fight it_  and don't  _run from it_. Just let it flow through the pathways in your body. And if you feel uncomfortable or like you're going to lose control, just drop your palms to the ground and let the earth do its thing."

"Yup, I got it," Aang replies automatically. Mentally, he is a wreck of nerves.

_Sounds like a piece of cake. No problem. I can definitely stand my ground and be okay with lightning being passed through me. That's not scary at all._

It's felt  _much_  longer than a few weeks since Katara first accidentally redirected lightning. Somehow in that time, a new focus has gripped the four of them. Zuko works twice as hard as before to practice manipulating lightning with increasing dexterity. It took him the better part of a fortnight before he was confident enough in his skill to  _let_  Katara try redirecting it again.

Aang doesn't know  _how_  Katara was able to pin it down – the  _exact motions_  to redirect lightning. But soon enough, she'd walked the General through the motions, enough for him to try it too. And since it worked for General Iroh, and then for Toph, he  _supposes_  that it should work for him too.

_In theory_.

"Ready?" Zuko calls from across the clearing, settling into his lightning-generating stance.

"As I'll ever be," Aang calls back, fighting the gulp that belies his nervousness.

"He's  _scared_ ," Toph observes loudly, from where she stands in the corner with General Iroh. Her face is scrunched into a frown. "Maybe go easy on him, Sparky."

"No,  _don't_ ," Aang insists, holding his hands out at the ready. "I'm ready when you are."

After all, General Iroh had survived with only a couple of hairs standing on end and  _Toph_  had said that redirecting lightning felt  _exhilarating_ , and Katara was able to do this in her  _sleep_  by now, so he supposes that it can't be that bad.

As long as he is able to guide the lightning away from his heart. The largest pool of energy in his body.

_It's like trying to put out a lit match on a pile of dry kindling_ , he thinks uncertainly.  _There's no way this is going to end well._

"Okay. Remember, it looks like a lot but I won't be shooting that much lightning at you. If you mess up, it won't hurt much more than a bad static shock," Zuko assures him, and he begins to go through the motions, separating the energies within him, charging. "Ready in three…two…one…"

Aang takes a deep breath and braces himself as, at his mental count of  _zero_ , Zuko lunges forward.

The current of lighting blossoms from his fingertips, almost as beautiful as it is feral, stretching across the air, heading  _straight for him_ –

His heart quails, sings to his instincts, to  _run_  –

But instead, he holds his ground and throws his hands out to meet the onslaught head-on.

The force of it  _pushes_  him back, his feet digging parallel tracks into the soft earth as he struggles to ground himself. The lightning  _hurts_  his hands, like a fire that is both present and absent, that freezes and burns at the same time –

He tears his focus away from the physical sensations and back to the flow of energy. His face scrunches shut as he tries to remember Katara's instructions.

_Through the fingers, down the arm_ – so far, so good –  _into the core, away from the heart, away from the heart –_

That proves to be a tall order for Aang. He struggles to maintain control, the lightning shuddering unsteadily within the confines of his chest as he realizes how  _little room_  there is –

_Firebenders store their energy in their stomach, waterbenders in their pelvis, earthbenders in their spine. This is much harder for me._

But he channels every last ounce of his focus into it anyway, and surely enough, the lightning ricochets off his lower chakra and flows out of him harmlessly, like water bouncing off a rock.

" _You did it_!" Katara exclaims delightedly, clapping her hands together.

"Without running away like a sissy airbender, either," Toph interjects, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "Way to go, Twinkletoes!"

"That…" Aang gasps for air, feeling like his insides have been forced through a vacuum, "was  _really_  unpleasant. I'd rather not repeat it, if you don't mind."

"Are you okay?" Zuko asks quickly, straightening out of his stance. "I tried to make the current as small as I could without losing it –"

"No, it was fine," Aang assures him, with a nod. "Any more and it probably would have burst right into my air chakra, though. What do you think, Katara?"

"I thought you did  _really well_ ," she tells him warmly. " _Both_  of you."

Her eyes flicker over to where the firebender stands. The smile she gives him is soft.

There's an uncertain pause.

"Well," Zuko tears his gaze away from her with some difficulty, turning back to face Aang, "there's always room for improvement."

His voice is steady but his pale face flushes faintly.

Aang doesn't blame him. Controlling something as unsteady and volatile as lightning must be  _hard_.

"No, you were great," he insists. He lets out a shaky breath and smiles uneasily at him. "I just don't think lightning and I were meant to interact."

"It's that hard for you to redirect it, huh?" Toph observes, tilting her head curiously.

"Yeah…" Aang trails off. "We're not all like you, Toph. You carry all your energy down low." Watching the earthbender try it, Aang had thought she was a walking ground, the way she effortlessly redirected it through her body and into the earth. "Lightning doesn't have a chance to hit your heart that way. But for airbenders, that's where all our energy pools. It's way more unstable."

"Well," Katara reassures him, looking away from Zuko and back at him, "this is all purely theoretical, right? Let's hope we never have to  _use_  this in an actual battle."

"Yeah, this is just theoretical," Toph agrees, waving a hand vaguely. "Except the whole getting electrocuted part, that's all real life. Anyway, how many people do we know who can actually bend lightning? And of them, how many are actually going to  _want_  to attack us?"

Zuko's face darkens, but he says nothing.

"I guess you're right," Aang confesses, his face brightening. "Hey but at least I don't have any hair, otherwise I'd look  _ridiculous_  right about now…"

* * *

THE TALE OF: CHAN

_or,_

_(another one bites the dust)_

"…and  _then_ , I woke up later and saw that Ryu's bunk was  _still empty_! That sly fox must've slunk back into bed at first light!"

" _Ryu_? The  _fisher boy_?  _Really?_ "

"That's what I'm  _saying_ , aren't I?"

"Who'd want to get boned by the  _fisher boy?_  When there're prime cuts like  _us_  walking around?"

"That's what I'm  _saying_. Something doesn't add up –"

" _Chan. Buddy. Look!_ "

Ruon-Jian and Hide break off from their intensely pointed discussion immediately once the former spots Chan walking slowly into the mess hall.

" _I don't believe it!_ "

" _Chan, my man._  You're out of the healing tent, then?"

"Took you long enough!"

"Glad to see you walking around!"

"Hey guys, look,  _Chan's back_."

Chan fights the urge to avert his gaze as Ruon-Jian and Hide rouse half the mess hall's worth of firebenders and soldiers. After being in the solitude of the healing tent for so many weeks, it feels jarring and almost uncomfortable being back among the ranks again.

But he hasn't seen his friends in what feels like  _forever_  and so he puts on a brave face and his even-toothed grin as he approaches the table.

"Hey guys," he greets them. "Anyone sitting here?"

"No way, man, make yourself at home," Ruon-Jian assures him, shoving another soldier a couple years' his junior off the bench. "Hey,  _move_.  _Chan's sitting here now_ , find your own damn spot."

"Uh, that's fine," Chan tries to call after the hapless young soldier as he scurries away, "there's enough room for…oh, forget about it then."

And feeling just the slightest bit uncomfortable, he sits down at the table with his friends.

"So tell us," Ruon-Jian urges him, leaning over his tray, "how bad was it?"

"Yeah," Hide echoes, "how bad was it?"

"Uh…" Chan reaches for his chopsticks, his motions still a little delicate for the bandages wrapped around his chest, "I'm fine, guys.  _Really_."

"Yeah, no way," Ruon-Jian dismisses, "you can tell  _us_."

"Yeah,  _way_ ," Chan counters with a bit of a nervous laugh, "a couple of sprains and tender spots, but apart from that, I'm  _fine_ , guys.  _Really_."

"That's  _bullshit_ ," Ruon-Jian argues, his voice rising and Chan can see that he's drawing the attention of half the mess hall. "You nearly  _died_ , Chan. I saw you, we  _all_  saw you. That  _bitch_  waterbender went savage, nearly  _killed you_ , and then got away with it!"

To Chan's dismay, he hears a rumble of assent: generalized whispers, murmurs, and voices chorusing their agreement with Ruon-Jian's words.

A feeling like guilt works its way into his stomach.

"I say we teach her a lesson," Hide crows, jumping up and facing the rest of the room, "show her what happens when you mess with fire."

"Guys," Chan tries to defuse things nonchalantly, "I don't really think that's necessary…"

"Of  _course_  it is," Ruon-Jian speaks up over him. He flashes Chan a sympathetic grin. "Look at him, guys.  _Good guy Chan_. Just wants to be merciful and let things slide, right? It's okay, buddy, you don't have to lift a finger. We'll do it for you."

"We'll show her that the  _Fire Nation remembers an insult_ ," Hide calls out, raising a fist in the air to cheers from the room. "Who's with me?"

Chan sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

_I started this._

In spite of their bravado, he's never felt more  _small_  than he does now.

"Guys," he tries again, his voice a bit stronger now and he can see the generalized euphoria shifting to surprise and suspicion among the faces in the room as he continues his faint protest, "guys, it's fine. Seriously. It's not worth getting into trouble. She got a fortnight in solitary for it, I think that's good enough."

"Good  _enough_?" someone calls back at him. "There's  _no such thing_."

"Is that what you're going to tell the General, then?" Chan retorts, getting to his feet. " _Seriously_ , guys. You're acting like little kids. It's  _embarrassing._ "

"We're just sticking up for you, buddy," Ruon-Jian points out, his face crestfallen.

"Yeah, we know you're afraid of her now and we want to show you that you shouldn't be," Hide explains, his tone rather affable.

"I'm not  _afraid of her_ ," Chan groans, "you're getting this all wrong –"

"Getting  _what_  all wrong?" Ruon-Jian echoes, clearly taken aback.

Chan pauses, feeling very on the spot.

This was  _not_  how he envisioned returning back to his day-to-day life.

He expected things to be simple, to slide seamlessly back into his old life like nothing had changed. That he could carry on with his careless, thoughtless existence as one of the most popular boys in the division.

He didn't expect the thought of it all to taste like ashes in his mouth at the first mention of the waterbender.

But then again, he hadn't expected her to  _heal him_ , work with him, day in and day out with an unnerving level of discipline and dedication that nobody's ever given him before, so…

" _There she is_ ," someone calls, and there's a rippling motion as heads turn to the entrance of the mess hall.

Chan sees the instant alertness that grips the waterbender and her companions (the blind earthbender, the Kyoshi Islander, and the cute Fire Nation girl who used to work in the circus) the second they enter the mess hall. He watches as the waterbender's bright blue eyes scan the hall quickly, the earthbender's shoulders tense up in preparation –

_Fix it_ , his mind urges him, even as the rest of him wonders why he should care at all, his friends are  _right_ , after all, she hurt him first,  _she'd deserve it_  –

Instead, he slides out of his seat and  _runs_ , as fast as he can without straining his recovering injuries (which isn't too fast, which probably makes the whole thing look very silly to an observer, he reflects) –

When he stops to face the waterbender, hands braced over on his knees as he pants heavily from the unexpected exertion, he can't say who the most surprised person in the room is.

"I – " he wheezes, turning around to face the rest of the hall in exhausted defiance, "I have to say –"

A pace behind him, the waterbender's eyebrows have shot up to the level of her hairline, she's  _that_  taken aback –

Catching his breath, he turns and grabs one of the waterbender's wrists and he feels her recoil in sharp protest as he jerks at her arm weakly.

" _This girl_ ," he gasps, winded, " _this girl saved my life_. Okay?"

"What?" Hide blurts out in confusion, from halfway across the room.

"What?" says the waterbender, probably equally confused at his unexpected outburst.

He should be embarrassed at the scene he's making, but it  _doesn't matter_. Maybe he's only acting so that he can stop feeling guilty over it all and maybe that means he's still just a selfish bastard, but  _damn it all –_

"You heard me," Chan declares resolutely, his voice a thread of sound but growing stronger with every word. "This girl – this  _waterbender_  – saved my life. I was in awful shape and she could have let me die, but she saved me." He faces down the rows and rows of his friends and peers, now staring at him like he's turned into a komodo rhino –  _and maybe he has, for all he knows._  "She spent  _hours_  of her own time healing me. Did you know waterbenders could heal? I didn't. But they can and  _she did_. It's exhausting and she probably can't stand me – the way I couldn't really stand her – and she  _still did it_." He pauses, heart hammering away nervously.

"But Chan," Ruon-Jian fights back thickly, clearly confused, " _buddy_ , she wouldn't have had to heal you if she hadn't  _attacked_ you first."

He tosses a glare at the girl.

"He has a point," he hears the waterbender mumble under her breath in resigned acquiescence.

Chan swallows instead.

"She wouldn't have attacked me," he admits, fighting to keep his voice from wobbling, "if I hadn't picked on her. If  _we_  hadn't picked on her."

"So – so you're saying it was  _your fault_?" Ruon-Jian counters hotly, also jumping to his feet. "What sort of Air Nomad pacifist bullshit is this?"

"I'm not saying it's  _my_  fault," Chan says sharply, desperately,  _needing them_  to understand. "I'm saying that if you poke a sabre-toothed moose-lion, expect to get  _trampled_."

He drops the waterbender's wrist and turns to face her.

She still looks surprised, but her face has softened a little bit now.

"Chan," she begins wearily, shaking her head, "you really don't need do this, it's fine –"

"No, it isn't," he cuts her off, "and  _yes_ , I do."

His conscience won't let him sleep at night if he doesn't, at any rate.

"Her name is  _Katara_ ," he announces, turning back to face the dumbfounded crowd in the mess hall, "and I'm  _apologizing_ , right here, right now, for all the shitty things I said to her and did to her and said  _about_ her and – uh –"

"That's fine," she replies quickly from behind him, very clearly uncomfortable, "really –"

"And if it wasn't for her," he continues doggedly, facing down his peers defiantly and  _finally_  starting feel some of the guilt going away, "I wouldn't be standing here right now, so I'm also going to  _thank her_  for  _not letting me die_."

"You're welcome," she mutters behind him with a sigh, "but this is really unnecessary –"

"I don't know," giggles her friend, the cute one in pink, "it's not every day you see Chan with more depth than a straight-razor's edge, I  _swear_  he's getting cuter by the  _second_  –"

_Score_ , his mind mentally notes, and Chan is amazed at his capacity to be  _such_   _an ass_  even when he's  _trying to do the right thing –_

"Unlike  _you guys_ ," he accuses, crossing his arms across his chest gingerly, "you didn't even  _visit me_ , you assholes."

"We weren't allowed in!" Hide retorts defensively, but everyone in the room now looks nervous.

" _Bullshit_!" Chan calls out Hide's bluff, and he straightens his back to draw himself up to his full height. "You didn't visit because it was  _inconvenient_. You don't care about  _me_ ; you just care about making yourselves  _feel better!_  Don't bother denying it either," he says quickly, pre-emptively holding up a finger at the swell of chatter that follows his words, "I'd do the same thing if I was you. I  _get it_."

"So…like…what are you trying to say?" Ruon-Jian asks, and his tone is no longer combative but merely  _curious_.

Chan breathes a couple of short, shallow breaths before he glances back at the waterbender.

Then, he takes a step to the side, planting himself directly in between her and the rest of the room.

"I'm  _saying_ ," he declares firmly, "that if  _anyone's_  got anything against Katara, they'll have to go through  _me_ , first."

A blank silence greets his words.

"Fair enough, buddy," Ruon-Jian says at last, clearly at a loss for words. "Why didn't you just say so? Man, I forgot how  _dramatic_  you were."

And with that, the tension in the room instantly dissipates, as everyone else loses interest and resumes eating their dinners.

Chan's face falls.

" _Hey_ ," he protests to deaf ears, "I'm  _not_  dramatic, I'm just trying to be the good guy here!"

"I don't know if anyone told you," the blind earthbender observes with a smirk, "but nobody gives you  _brownie points_  just for doing the right thing."

"Oh."

Chan slumps.

"But they  _can_  thank you," the waterbender interjects gently, and to his surprise, she gives him a smile – not the uncomfortable, slightly sarcastic one she usually wears around him, but a  _real one_. "So…thanks, I guess."

She holds out her hand.

"Uh…" He takes her proffered hand and shakes it. "You're welcome. I guess."

"Yeah." She pauses, before withdrawing her hand. "Well, I guess I'll see you around, Chan."

"Yeah," he echoes, his mind drawing a blank on what to say to her next. "Right."

But as he walks away, he feels a million pounds lighter.

_I did it. I fixed it._

" _Man_ , Sugar Queen," he hears the earthbender drawl as she shakes her head in amazement, "how on  _earth_  do you do this to everyone?"

* * *

THE TALE OF: SUKI

_or,_

_(don't look back in anger)_

"This is going to be  _so much fun_!" Ty Lee sings, leaping onto her hands briefly before somersaulting back onto her feet daintily, as though it was nothing. "I'm  _so glad_  we're getting a  _girls' day out_!"

"You guys  _have_  been working way too hard," Suki agrees, smirking a little as they take the path into the nearby town. "It'll be fun to take a bit of time off to ourselves!"

"I have to say," Toph admits airily, crossing her hands across her chest, "it's nice to not be surrounded by the empire's  _most dramatic guys_  for a change. You know, considering that it's socially acceptable for them to resolve their issues with violence, they're  _uselessly melodramatic._ "

She rolls her sightless eyes affectionately.

"Really?" Suki frowns at Toph's emphatic outburst. "But you're always with Aang and Zuko. Surely they're not  _that_  bad?"

" _Ha_!" Toph's derision is palpable. "Well, Twinkletoes isn't too bad, I'll grant you – all that internalized air nomad discipline – but  _Sparky's_  a mess. Holy badgermoles am I glad to get my seismic sense  _away_  from that one for a day!"

"He can't be  _that_  bad," Ty Lee gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. "Or maybe he's still  _heartbroken_  over losing Mai –"

"Yeah, it might just be his raging teenage boy hormones," Suki suggests wryly, her smirk widening. Her eyes shift to Katara, who has been unusually quiet during the whole exchange. The waterbender walks silently alongside them, but her eyes are trained elsewhere, scanning the area around them intently. "Are you looking for someone, Katara?"

Katara starts abruptly at the mention of her name.

"What? N – no," she stammers, shaking her head and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiles apologetically at them. "I zoned out for a bit, what were you guys saying?"

"We were  _saying_ –" Ty Lee begins eagerly, but Toph holds up a hand.

"Nope, I'm vetoing this topic," she says firmly, shaking her head. "I am  _not_  spending my  _one_  day off dissecting Sparky's  _hormones_  with you guys."

"Fair enough," Suki agrees, still amused. Beside her, Katara shakes her head a bit, but Suki notices the girl's ears are redder than usual. "This day couldn't possibly come at a better time. We can check out Wong's and see if he's got anything decent in stock!"

"Huh?" Katara asks, confused.

"Yeah, what language was that?" Toph prods, cupping a hand against her ear. "Apparently Sweetness and I don't speak Fancy Dancer."

"Or teenage girl, for that matter," Suki teases. "C'mon, it's Day of the Dragons  _next week._ "

"You guys  _need_  to buy something new!" Ty Lee pipes up. "It's  _tradition_."

"I thought that was only for Conquest Day," Katara points out, somewhat crestfallen.

"Well, where do you think they came up with the idea for that holiday? They were obviously  _inspired_  by Day of the Dragons!" Ty Lee explains, her eyes brightening. "You know? Dragon mating rituals? New dragons, new year, new clothes! It makes much more sense, if you think about it…"

"Shopping," Toph says sceptically as they walk into the bustling town square. "You're taking us… _shopping_."

Suki exchanges a look with Ty Lee.

"Well, we thought it was worth a shot," she confesses.

"Because  _last time_  went so well," Toph retorts witheringly.

"Well,  _last time_  we didn't take you to Wong's," Ty Lee points out. "We went to that crappy marketplace in that rinky-dink village."

"Yeah, this town's got much nicer stuff," Suki agrees. "Even  _you'd_  probably like it, Toph."

"Um," Katara says, somewhat uncomfortably. "Does this seem a little… _frivolous_  to anyone else or is it just me?"

"Yup," Toph replies serenely, while Ty Lee gasps.

" _You_  are the last person to be talking about  _frivolous_ , Katara," she declares firmly, poking Katara in the shoulder to emphasize her point. "None of your clothes even  _fit_. For Agni's sake, could you  _please_  stop being responsible and sensible for  _one day_  and find yourself something to wear that  _isn't_  made to fit  _three of you_?"

"She means no offense," Suki follows up apologetically. "She's only got your best interests at heart, Katara."

"My allowance isn't  _nearly_  enough to buy a whole new wardrobe's worth of stuff," Katara complains. "You guys know that."

"We know," Suki concedes, nodding sympathetically. "That's why we're taking you to Wong's. Not only does he have some great wares, but you can't beat his prices!"

"Yeah! Last time I walked out with  _four_ whole outfits, and only paid eight silvers!" Ty Lee beams. "You can spare eight silvers, can't you, Katara?"

Katara sighs.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to regret letting you guys take me anywhere?" she asks, somewhat forebodingly.

"Probably because you will," Toph answers sagely, crossing her arms as well.

"Oh, shut up, you two," Suki tells them kindly.

* * *

"This is it?" Katara asks, raising an eyebrow at the homely wooden storefront.

"It doesn't look like much," Suki admits. "But there's something for everyone!  _Look_ ," and she points at one of the dresses hanging in the front window, "there's even a Water Tribe dress you could try."

"What?" Katara's eyes follow to where Suki points, and then they widen. "Hey, you're  _right_." She frowns. "I've  _never_  seen Water Tribe clothing sold at a  _market_  before. Not in the Fire Nation, anyway. That's so  _weird_."

"We did try to tell you," Ty Lee chirps, pulling the door to the store open and holding it for the others to pass through. "Wong has  _everything_."

Suki leads the way, pausing to describe some Earth Kingdom-style outfits to Toph, who nods in approval.

"That doesn't sound too bad," Toph admits, as Suki pulls at one of the tunics and holds it out for the earthbender to feel. "Doesn't  _feel_  too bad either."

"Good morning, ladies!" greets the vendor from behind the counter. "What can I help you with today?"

"Morning, Wong!" Ty Lee returns with a beaming smile. "We're doing some shopping for Day of the Dragons!"

"Ah, of course!" the shop's eponymous Wong nods enthusiastically, his eyes sweeping across the four of them. His gaze falters on Katara momentarily before he directs it back to Suki. "And just so you know,  _all_  of our wares are half off until the end of the week!"

"Ooh!" Ty Lee exclaims, clapping her hands together. "This just gets better and better!" She pauses, scanning the shelves behind the vendor briefly. "Could I take a look at that pink ensemble there?"

"Pink. Real original," Suki quips dryly, reaching for a yellow dress. "How much for this one?"

"Nine copper pieces, sweetcakes," Wong replies with a quick wink, pulling Ty Lee's pink outfit from the top shelf.

Suki's eyes light up.

"Ooh, that's a  _bargain_!" she states in satisfaction, holding it against her. "I think I'll go try it on!"

"Trial rooms are just in the back there," the vendor says, pointing to a doorway in the opposite wall. He smiles thinly at Katara, who has begun to parse the small collection of blue Water Tribe clothing, and jabs a finger in her direction. "Is this one with you ladies?"

His question catches them off guard. Suki, too preoccupied with Toph and the yellow dress, barely registers Katara's confusion as they make their way over to the trial rooms.

"Yes, I'm with them," she hears Katara reply, somewhat bewildered as she pauses her browsing.

"Ah," Wong replies and there's a funny tone in his voice now, like he's working very hard to keep his voice level. "Well…no running off now. I've got my eye on you."

Suki is barely paying attention as she leaves the main room with Toph. She enters one curtained stall, while Toph uses the one next to her. She strips off her brown tunic and shimmies into the bright yellow silk, doing up the ties at waist and neck.

"Why would she run off?" Ty Lee's voice is curious as she makes her way back into the trial room too, pink ensemble in hand.

"Oh, you know…" Wong trails off uncomfortably.

"Know  _what_?" Katara's voice is sharp now.

"Oh, nothing." Wong clears his throat and tries again, his voice falsely bright as though speaking to a small child. "You speak our language very well for someone from the Water Tribes! I wasn't sure if you understood us, but you barely have an accent!"

There's a pause before Katara scoffs quietly.

"Right," she mutters, ostensibly returning to browsing the section of Water Tribe clothing. "Well, how much for this dress then…?"

Suki doesn't hear the rest of their exchange as she rustles the curtain back and examines her reflection in the polished looking-glass.

"What do you think?" she asks brightly, angling herself one way and then the other as Ty Lee emerges from the stall next to her.

" _Ooh_!" Ty Lee gasps, clapping her hands appreciatively. "I  _like_  it! The yellow does  _wonders_  for your aura, Suki!"

"Yeah, I think I like it," Suki decides, appraising her reflection. "It's a super flattering cut too."

"Isn't it?" Ty Lee runs a hand along the smooth yellow silk. "I  _love_  the cutouts! It's cheeky, without being too sexy!"

Another rustle and Toph exits from her stall too.

"Toph, what do you think?" Suki asks, before mentally smacking herself. "Wait – my bad –"

"Yeah. Your bad," Toph snorts, tying up the gold sash of her emerald green dress. "Well, I think this fits okay and I don't really give a shit about what it looks like, so I'll probably just take it and the other one, too."

"Well, in case you were wondering, it looks nice," Ty Lee offers. "Brings out your eyes."

"What doesn't?" Toph retorts, turning on her heel and returning to her stall.

In the other room, Katara's voice rises sharply.

"Are you  _kidding_  me?" the waterbender asks, clearly exasperated. "Well, what about this one then…"

"What's up with her?" Suki inquires, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Ty Lee.

"I don't know," Ty Lee admits, shrugging and looking at her own reflection in the mirror. "But Wong was acting a bit weird around her, I thought."

"Yeah, but  _why_?" Suki presses, frowning.

Ty Lee shrugs.

"Beats me. She didn't  _do_  anything, not that I saw." She twirls in front of the mirror. "What do you think of  _mine_ , Suki?"

* * *

Suki and Ty Lee leave the trial room stalls a little while later, satisfied with their wares.

"I'll take it!" Suki announces, walking up to the counter and slamming the yellow dress onto it. "That was nine coppers, right?"

"That's correct," Wong nods.

"So," Katara speaks up, and there's a funny sound in her voice like she's trying  _really hard_  to keep her calm, " _hers_  is nine coppers, and  _hers_  –" she points to the pink ensemble in Ty Lee's hands, "is a silver, and both those outfits  _combined_  –" a gesture at the pile of Earth Kingdom suits draped over Toph's shoulder, "are a couple of silvers…"

"That's correct," Wong nods, his long face creasing into a quick smile. "My, you're certainly good with numbers!"

"But  _one_  Water Tribe dress," Katara continues sceptically, picking up a cotton blue dress and shaking it slightly, " _just the dress_ , is forty silvers?"

" _What_?" Suki lets out a laugh. "That's  _ridiculous_." She faces the vendor with a disarming smile on her face. "That can't be right."

"I'm afraid it is," the vendor shrugs apologetically.

"But –" and now  _Suki_  is confused as she glances at the small selection of blue garments alone on their shelf, "but – that's kind of  _expensive_ , no?"

"Expensive? That's a  _bargain_ ," Wong corrects her, his back straightening. "Water Tribe styles are  _really_  popular in the capital, you know? I have royals and officials and all sorts of really wealthy people coming in and buying them! They're a  _status_  symbol now, see? Very trendy! And I have to make a living too, you know."

"But  _forty silvers_  for a  _dress_  is a little ridiculous," Suki laughs. "Especially in  _this_  town. We're all soldiers and merchants here, nobody has that kind of money to throw around."

"It's not even  _that nice_ ," Ty Lee declares, pulling the dress from Katara's hands and examining it critically. "I mean, yeah sure, it's a pretty dress but it's kind of old and not exactly  _designer_  or anything –"

"Old?" Wong's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "I'll have you know that it's  _vintage_. Lifted it off a  _real_  person from the Water Tribes, you know! That makes it  _authentic_."

" _Authentic_?" Katara echoes, her face scrunching up in distaste. "What the hell? My people didn't go through everything they did so that a greedy little man like you could  _profit_  off of their culture." She takes a shaky breath and flexes her fingers dangerously. "As though you're pricing out the people who  _actually wear_  these just because some airhead royals back in the capital think it's  _trendy_."

"Yeah," Suki agrees, crossing her arms and shifting her weight now, frowning. "That's kind of a dick move."

"It's  _absurd_ ," Ty Lee complains, "and besides, you can't sell thrift store merchandise at designer prices, that's literally  _not how this works_."

"Actually, that's  _exactly_  how this works." Wong smiles at them, only this time it doesn't make him look friendly at all. "It may surprise you, my dears, but business is all about  _profit._ "

_What an asshole_ , Suki thinks darkly to herself, outraged at the ashen look on the waterbender's face.  _How dare he try to rip Katara off like that!_

"Yeah well," Toph speaks up, her face darkening, "since you basically admitted that those clothes were  _stolen_ , you could basically give them away for free and  _still_  make money."

"I could," Wong concedes, his smile widening a little. "But sadly that's just how business works,  _ladies_."

Suki's eyes narrow at his tone. Her blood begins to boil.

"Could you explain that again for me?" she asks, forcing her face into a sweet, innocent expression, "Being a  _lady_ , I didn't quite follow."

He falls for it hook, line, and sinker. He leans a bit closer to her, his hands flat against the counter.

"Of course, sweetcakes," he replies affably, eyes bright. "It's quite simple. The strong  _take_ ," he flashes an unpleasant glance at Katara's aghast face before turning back to face Suki's guileless one, "and the rich  _pay_."

He winks conspiratorially at her.

Suki senses Katara stiffening behind her in indignation, Ty Lee putting a hand on her shoulder, Toph crossing her arms threateningly –

"Oh, okay," she says, tilting her head and flashing him a quick smile. "I see. Thanks for explaining it like that!"

"No problem," the vendor replies, leaning back in satisfaction. "Sometimes it's hard for pretty young girls like yourselves to wrap their heads around the realities of business –"

He doesn't finish his sentence because Suki slams her fist into his mouth, sending him flying back into the wall.

"No, not at all," she replies, leaping over the counter effortlessly and landing a step away from where Wong lies crumpled and dazed on the ground.

" _Suki_ ," Ty Lee gasps, rushing over to her side.

"Now  _that's_  more like it," Toph declares, nodding with approval.

"Just a minute," Suki commands, holding up a finger to silence the other girls. Then she grabs Wong by the lapels of his coat and hoists him to his feet before slamming him bodily against the wall.

He gasps in surprise and outrage.

" _What are you doing_?" he squeaks out, terrified, eyes darting across Suki's unusually stern face.

"What am I  _doing_?" Suki repeats, raising an eyebrow. She chances a glance back at the girls – anxious Ty Lee, stone-faced Katara, impassive Toph – before turning her head back to face Wong, her wry smirk back on her face. "Why - I'm doing  _business_  with you."

Wong's face drains of colour at the unsettling levity in her voice.

" _What_?" he protests, staring at her with a hint of anger. "No you're not – you're  _robbing me._ "

"Mm." Suki's voice is sweet again and she pretends to think about it. "I might have understood you wrong – you know, it's  _so hard_  for a young lady like myself to wrap my head around it,  _but_  –" her hands tighten around his coat, the fabric bunching tightly in her fingers as she presses him against the wall, "–I could have  _sworn_  I heard you say that business is when the strong  _take_  and the rich  _pay_."

She winks back at him.

"This is just the  _taking_ part."

He just gapes at her, struggling to find the words as she turns back to face the other girls.

"Katara," Suki says rather firmly, "help yourself to anything you want. Wong won't mind,  _will he?_ "

She presses a hand into his windpipe threateningly. He coughs and shakes his head in terror.

"Good." Suki nods. "You see, my friend here doesn't deserve to get  _ripped off_  on her clothes because she happens to be Water Tribe. Got it?"

He nods again. Satisfied, she removes her hand from his throat and he sucks in a breath of air.

"I don't know…" Katara falters uncertainly behind Suki. "This seems a little…wrong, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Toph admits, shrugging. "But  _he_ was wrong too. Anyway, you heard him, those clothes were basically stolen from Water Tribe people – you think they ended up here peacefully? You probably deserve them more than he does!"

"Yeah, but…" Katara agrees, trailing off.

"We're just playing by  _his rules_ ," Ty Lee explains earnestly. "You know, sometimes you just have to beat them at their own game?"

"Yeah. I know." Katara steps forward, crossing her arms across her chest. She casts a dark glare at the helpless vendor, still pinned to the wall. "You're a despicable person, you know that? But the  _last_  thing I want to do is give you another reason to think badly of people like me.  _So_  –"

She turns on her heel and walks back to the rack with the Water Tribe clothing. She sifts through the items methodically, plucking an item here or there as she sees fit: a grey overcoat, a navy blue tunic, a long violet dress with an embroidered white sash –

" _Whoa_ ," Ty Lee comments as Katara finally finishes rifling through the collection and walks back with a small pile of clothing in cool-coloured cotton and linens. " _Good haul_."

Katara places her pile on the counter and sorts through them, counting and folding them meticulously.

"That's four ensembles," she says at last, reaching for a bag and sliding everything into it. "Ty Lee, what would  _you_  pay for that?"

"Uh." Ty Lee taps her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe eight silvers? Ten if I felt like splurging."

"Right." Katara withdraws her pouch at her side and counts out her money. She meets the vendor's eyes as she places her coins on the counter. "I'm paying you twelve silver coins. That's more than what you'd charge my friends. I'd say that's more than fair." She glares at him. "I won't rob you but I won't let you steal from me, either. You can keep the extra silvers as a token of my generosity. For the  _excellent_  service I got from you. Maybe it'll remind you to be nicer to the next Water Tribe person who walks through your door."

"Because if you're not," Suki finishes sweetly, dropping the vendor to the floor vehemently, "we'll find out. And we'll be  _back_."

Wong gulps, wide-eyed.

* * *

"You know, in retrospect," Ty Lee remarks as they leave Wong's store with their bagged purchases, "it was kind of stupid of Wong to talk to us like that when he  _knew_  we're from the army."

"He probably thought we just served tea and gave the boys hot stone massages," Toph yawns, thoroughly unconcerned. "Great store, wouldn't go back."

* * *

THE TALE OF: ZUKO

_or,_

_(here comes the sun)_

The division base camp is quiet, as most of the girls (and no small number of the boys) have taken advantage of their rare day off to head into the closest nearby town. Zuko decides to take advantage of the emptiness first by meditating in his room and  _then_ , when that's done, heading over to the deserted clearing and practicing his lightning-bending some more.

He is tying the sash cinching his overtunic when a knock sounds at his door.

"Not today, Aang-" he begins wearily as he opens the door a crack and falling silent. Where he'd been expecting the young air nomad instead stand Chan, Ruon-Jian, and Hide. He raises his good eyebrow, unsure of what this is all about. "Uh…hi?"

The three of them shuffle awkwardly in their places, but it's Chan who speaks up first.

"Hi," he returns and if he feels uncomfortable at all, at least it isn't detectable in his smooth, steady voice. "Er, good morning, Your Highness."

Zuko rolls his eyes at the feigned attempt at deference.

"Stop that," he orders, before starting to shut the door.

"Wait!" Chan's foot sticks out, wedging itself between the door and its frame in the wall. Zuko is confused now as the other firebender continues. "We – we just wanted to say we're sorry."

"Sorry?" Zuko frowns in confusion, but he opens the door just slightly to see them better. "Sorry for what?"

"Well…" Chan struggles, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He is taller and quite a bit broader in the shoulder than Zuko, but he quails before the prince nonetheless. "We sort of gave you a hard time, earlier, for sticking up for that waterbender – for Katara, I mean."

"Oh." Zuko remains perfectly still, not letting his surprise show on his face. "Uh…"

"Yeah, we thought you were, like, really weird," Ruon-Jian speaks up, and his voice is just the slightest bit penitent. "But we figure she's alright, right?"

"And if she's alright," Hide takes up the strange dialogue, "then you are too. Right? I mean, you're the  _prince_. We should've listened to you."

"Exactly," Chan nods, smiling tightly. "So uh, what do you say? Let bygones be bygones?"

He holds out his hand non-threateningly.

Whatever Zuko had been expecting from them, it certainly wasn't  _this_.

"Um," he struggles, trying not to mentally choke on the fact that they're  _sucking up to him_  and more importantly, they're admitting that  _he was right_. "Um, sure."

He accepts Chan's proffered hand and they shake on it.

"It's water under the bridge already," he says quickly, thinking that if even  _Chan_  and his spoiled, stupid friends could change,  _maybe_  there's hope for the rest of them.

Chan brightens.

"Great!" he exclaims. "Then as a token of our friendship, want to come into town with us? We're all going out for a pint and we're  _not_  taking no for an answer!"

The part of Zuko's mind that is capable of rational thought observes that their newly forged truce didn't necessarily mean that they were  _friends_ , yet.

"Yeah, you should hang out with us more, Prince Zuko!" Ruon-Jian urges earnestly. "Spread some of that wisdom you get from your uncle!"

" _Ruon-Jian_ ," hisses Chan, elbowing his friend sharply in the ribs. " _Be cool._ "

Zuko can scarcely believe it. He isn't stupid. He knows a sycophant when he sees one. But there's a sincerity to Chan and his friends that he doesn't recognize from earlier.

_Maybe this time, things will be different._

"Actually," he hears himself say, "maybe I could use a drink after all."

* * *

If someone had told him when he woke up that morning that by lunchtime, he'd be in town and halfway through his second pint with  _Chan's_  friends of all things, he would have thought that he was running a high fever.

Instead, he raises the cup to his lips and listens in silence to the cacophony of interspersed conversations surrounding him.

" _No way_ ," Hide is saying disbelievingly to the tall, boy-faced son of the fishmonger. " _How in the name of Agni_  did you swing that?"

"Swing what?" asks another firebender, Malu, who's joined them at their table.

" _Ryu_ over here," Hide splutters, jabbing a thumb at his companion's direction with emphasis, "this  _fisher boy_  – managed to bone one of the  _hottest girls_  in the division!"

"Oh yeah, the other night," Malu nods approvingly, grinning and raising his cup in a show of a toast. "Well played, Ryu."

"Thanks," Ryu replies, rubbing a hand against the back of his head somewhat bashfully. "Uh, it's not that big a deal, guys –"

" _Not that big a deal_?" Hide splutters, going somewhat bug-eyed at Ryu's nonchalance. "She's  _dynamite_! Solid ten out of ten, man!"

"Yeah dude," Ruon-Jian advises sagely, "she's  _way_  out of your league."

"I don't know," Malu wavers, contributing what he can to the conversation, "I think Ryu's got a bit more game than he lets on. Look at that  _face_ , that  _smile_  – with the  _dimples_."

"So?" Hide is clearly unimpressed.

"I don't know," Malu shrugs, swigging from his cup and wiping his mouth. "Chicks  _cream_  themselves over that stuff, no? They care more about your  _personality_  and whether there's room for  _improvement_."

Chan snorts.

"Well, that explains Ryu then," he remarks with a bit of a drawl. "Anyway Hide, what're you so worked up over? I thought you were all googly-eyed for that other chick –"

"Who?  _On Ji_?" Hide retorts scathingly, though his ears turn red. "No  _way_ , man. She's only like a six or seven, tops – and what's  _more_ , I saw her getting awfully chatty with that tattooed airbender the other day!"

" _Aang_?" Zuko interjects disbelievingly, choking on his beer. "Someone was flirting with Aang?"

"That's the one," Hide nods stubbornly, crossing his arms. "So I say  _fuck that_ , there's plenty of other girls ripe for the taking. That Jin, for example –"

"The one from the  _Earth_  territories?" Malu raises an eyebrow. "Over On Ji? Really?"

"Hey you know what," Hide points out defensively, "she's not much to look at up front but she's actually pretty low-key sexy, alright?" He smirks. "Plus that girl  _knows_  what she wants."

"Eh, still though," Malu says dismissively, "if I had to pick an  _Earth_   _territories_  girl, I'd go with the Kyoshi one. What's her name again?"

"I keep forgetting," Chan admits, scrunching his face up. "Sukka, was it?"

" _Suki_ ," Zuko corrects, his stomach churning slightly as the conversation starts to tread familiar territory.

"Right yeah that's it," Malu nods and flashes a grin at Zuko. "Suki. Man, if we're talking about low-key sexy –"

"Really?  _Her_?" Hide raises an eyebrow. "I don't really see it. Plus she kind of wears a bit too much makeup for me –"

"Not  _all the time_ ," Malu argues, and then he smirks, "and then, you know. She's sassy. Got a  _wicked_  sense of humour. Witty, you know? Like she could keep up with you and knock you out at the same time."

"That turns you on?" Ruon-Jian demands skeptically. He shakes his head. "Why not go for the blind earthbender while you're at it? Man, you've got some weird taste in women, Malu."

"Speaking of weird taste in women," Malu says meaningfully, quirking an eyebrow up, "what do you make of the waterbender? Personally, I think she's pretty sexy."

Zuko narrowly winds up inhaling the rest of his drink at Malu's cavalier assessment of Katara.

He's been getting better at keeping his thoughts about her at bay – and considering just how much she's been warming up to him recently, it's taken more self-control than he believed he had in him. He's probably just gotten used to it by now. But the last thing he'd expected was for her to become the subject of the male gossip mill – which was probably his own fault, in a way, he should've seen  _that_  coming…

"That's only because you have a hard-on for girls who could kill you while fucking you at the same time," Ruon-Jian interjects savagely. " _Weird_  fetish, dude."

"I'm  _telling_  you, it just makes it more exciting," Malu assures him lightly. "Anyone else? Hot or not?"

"Hot," Ryu admits with a cursory nod.

"Hot," Chan grudgingly agrees, "definitely hot in a  _I could kill you now and heal you back to life_  sort of way."

"Oh  _yeah_ , she  _healed you_ ," Ruon-Jian comments significantly, wiggling his eyebrows. "So? Anything happen between you guys?"

Zuko suddenly feels sick to his stomach.

" _No_ ," Chan insists and for once the levity has slipped off of his face. "And shut up about her, guys. I  _mean it_."

_The day I walk into a crowd and find_ Chan _the most sensible of them all_ , Zuko marvels privately as he closes his eyes.  _Unbelievable._

" _Ooh_ ," the others chorus mischievously as Chan's face reddens. " _Somebody's_  got a thing for the waterbender, looks like!"

"I do  _not_ ," Chan maintains, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. "Fuck off, you guys."

"Hey no need to get defensive, man," Malu reassures him. "We  _get it_. We literally  _all_  said she's hot."

"For a waterbender," Hide supplies.

"Well yeah, for a waterbender," Malu agrees with a nod. He raises an eyebrow. "And you  _know_  what they say about Water Tribe girls, right?"

He and Hide snicker, even as Chan shrugs and Ryu looks vaguely uncomfortable and Ruon-Jian just wears a look of distaste, barely visible through the hair covering his face.

"That's just propaganda." Zuko feels the need to speak up and he  _feels_  their eyes settle upon him curiously. "You  _know_  that's all made up, right?"

"Well, it can't  _all_  be made up," Malu counters. "I mean," and he leans toward them, his voice lowering a bit, " _I_  heard from my cousin who knows a guy who's got an uncle who works in the red light district back in the capital. Owns a brothel, you know, specializes in women of all types.  _Anyway._ " He smirks. "He says the Water Tribe girls he's got working for him make him the most money – more so than the hottest Fire Nation girls! The patrons just go  _crazy_  for them. Why's that, you think?"

"Because they're rare?" Ryu guesses bluntly.

"Well, that's part of it," Malu acknowledges. "That and –"

"C'mon dude, have you ever  _seen_  one?" Ruon-Jian parries witheringly. "The waterbender's  _pretty_ , but you can't tell me that  _all_  the rich guys back in the capital are into that  _exotic_  look - y'know – dark skin, blue eyes, long crazy hair –"

The sickening feeling in the pit of Zuko's stomach intensifies, but only partially out of discomfort at Ruon-Jian's words.

"I don't know, all that hair seems like it'd be fun to  _pull on_ ," Hide muses with a grin. "If y'know what I mean?"

" _Exactly_ ," Malu concludes, as though explaining something very simple to a child. "Plus they're total  _nymphos_  too!"

Ryu frowns.

"I don't know about that. The waterbender seems a little frigid to me," he points out uncertainly.

"That's my point _._ It's all a  _front_ ," Malu emphasizes. He nudges at Ryu, sitting next to him, with a meaningful gesture. "That's why they're so popular. They pretend to be all cold and frigid with that icy exterior, but secretly they're  _always_  up for it. After all," he winks significantly, "you won't find a girl wetter than a waterbender!"

" _Ugh_." Zuko all but spits his drink out of his mouth back into his cup. "Can you  _stop that?_ " He is gripped by revulsion at the firebender's crude suggestions, and by something else altogether that has everything and nothing to do with his own interest in their resident waterbender. "Katara's a  _person_ , okay? She's not a bunch of stereotypes for you to jerk off to."

Something that feels a little bit like hypocrisy leaves an ashen taste in his mouth.

"You seem pretty defensive of her, Prince Zuko," Malu observes serenely. "Any reason why?"

"Of course there's  _a reason why,_ " Zuko bites out imperiously. "She's a friend and you're being creepy and gross."

"Yeah dude," Ryu agrees, his face wrinkling. "You might just earn yourself a trip to the healing hut if you say that too loudly."

"I'll say," Chan supplies, shaking his head. " _Not cool_ , man."

"I don't know," Ruon-Jian comments scathingly, "maybe he  _wants_  to get beat up by the waterbender. That's what gets him hard, after all."

"Really, guys?" Malu taps his chin thoughtfully before turning to face Chan. "I mean, _you_  were the one who brought up those handprint burns she's got, Chan. If  _that's_  not proof that she's into some freaky shit, then I don't know  _what_  is."

" _You_  –" Zuko has to actively stop himself from lunging at the ignorant firebender sitting across from him. Instead, he forces himself to take a deep breath and continue, in as measured a voice that he can muster. "You know that she probably got those scars at a  _colonial school_ , right?" He gives them a moment, so that the implications of his statement are not lost upon them. "And then," he looks Malu right in the eyes as he continues nonchalantly, "come to think of it, I'm pretty sure she killed the guys who did it."

He calmly takes a drink from his cup as Malu gulps nervously across from him.

"You're joking, right?" he asks, sweating a little.

"I never joke. So if I were you," Zuko advises him solemnly with a voice that is warmer than he feels, "I'd keep my voice down when talking about her like that. If she heard, there's no telling what she'd do to you."

"I'll second that," Chan quips in agreement, before chancing a quick look around. "Speaking from personal experience and all, maybe… Malu, uh… maybe you should just shut the fuck up, man."

* * *

THE TALE OF: TOPH

_or,_

_(teenage wasteland)_

"You've got to be  _kidding,_ Circus Freak," Toph exclaims with a hearty laugh. It deepens when she realizes that the girl across from her isn't lying. "You hooked up with  _Ryu_? As in the  _fishmonger's boy_?"

"You did?  _When_?" Suki demands, shooting her friend an accusatory stare. "And how have I not heard about this before?"

"You're hearing about it now, aren't you?" Ty Lee says patiently, fussing with the knot of her bathrobe. "Anyway, why  _wouldn't_  I? He's pretty cute, you know!"

"Well…I guess," Suki admits, somewhat reluctantly. "But…like…"

" _I_  wouldn't know," Toph declares with a smirk. "His features aren't anything to write home about. Looks like you're settling, Circus Freak."

"Well,  _you're_  one to talk! You're  _blind_!" Ty Lee huffs, crossing her arms in a bit of a sulk.

She senses the girl bristle defensively, and she leans back, smiling in satisfaction.

Following their eventful trip into town, Toph had yawned and declared that  _she_  wanted to unwind in the steam room. So naturally, everyone else  _insisted_  that they join her, too. Except Katara, who required some coaxing to join them. Eventually, she caved but  _insisted_  that she'd keep her bathrobe on.

Toph finds that a bit strange. If she hadn't known the waterbender to be rather comfortable changing around her, she would have thought her to be quite the prude. But Katara sits with them, hugging her robe tightly to her body as though to hide from prying eyes and Toph's curiosity wanes.

"I'm  _so jealous_  you guys get your own  _steam room_ ," Ty Lee changes the subject, probably sick of being picked on for being a bit of a wild child. " _Agni_ , I'd be in here every day if I had one!"

"That's what Sweetness and I thought, too," Toph snorts. She turns her head in Katara's direction, who still  _feels_  tense and uncomfortable to her seismic senses. "But we don't really have time for it a lot of the time. Right, Sugar Queen?"

Katara starts, as though she's been zoned out this whole time.

"Uh yeah," she agrees half-heartedly. "What Toph said."

Toph doesn't exactly blame her for drifting off. Suki and Ty Lee, while fun in their own way, are a little too much  _girl_  for her to stand sometimes. And Katara, who's about as far gone from a teenage girl as you could get for a seventeen-year-old, probably feels a bit the same way.

Idly, she wonders if the waterbender would be zoning out if Aang and  _Zuko_  were here instead. With a bit of a mental smirk, she thinks not.

"Excited for Day of the Dragons?" Ty Lee presses, crossing her long, slim legs luxuriously. The hem of her robe rides up, but she pays it no heed. "It's only a week away!"

"Yes, you did mention that," Toph replies blithely, scratching at her nose nonchalantly. "One or two thousand times all day today, I think."

"I can't  _help_  it," Ty Lee defends herself, flipping her long braid over her shoulder. "It's the new year already! We get days off and spend it all  _eating_  and  _drinking_  and  _partying_ –" her face splits into a grin, "and  _dancing_  –"

"Oh  _yeah_." Toph senses Suki perk up too. "The Dragon dances are the  _best_."

Toph is privately inclined to agree. If for no other reason than that the booze served during Day of the Dragons was the strongest and therefore made the dances  _that_  much more fun.

"Why?" asks Katara, somewhat hesitantly.

Ty Lee's face spreads into an expression that Toph can imagine is  _curious_.

"You've never celebrated Day of the Dragons before, Katara?" she inquires, wide-eyed.

Katara recedes a bit more into herself, tucking her folded legs closer to her chest.

"Not really," she says, her voice masking her bitterness well. "They…didn't exactly invite us to join in." A beat while the other glance at her in confusion. "Y'know. Waterbenders."

" _Oh_." Toph's head hurts from sensing how vigourously Ty Lee is nodding. "Right.  _Sorry_. I – I forgot!"

"It's okay." Katara shrugs indifferently, before her spine straightens a bit. "So enlighten me. What's so special about these Dragon dances?"

The grin is back on Ty Lee's face as though it had never left.

"What's so  _special_  about them?" she repeats with gusto. "Why – Day of the Dragons is  _more_  than just our new year! It's the first day of the dragons'  _mating_  season. It's all about celebrating  _fire_  and  _life_  and  _light_  and –" she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, "y'know?"

"Uh…" Toph can  _feel_  Katara's apprehension growing from the other side of the room. "Not really?"

" _Well_ ," Ty Lee continues, stretching out her arms above her head. "The night of, there's supposed to be an all-night celebration. Lot of bonfires and booze and dancing, till the crack of dawn!"

"How's that different from any of your other holidays?" Katara inquires dubiously. "There was dancing during Conquest Day."

Ty Lee waves a hand dismissively.

"That wasn't  _dancing_ ," she scoffs, "that was some pale anemic copy that doesn't even come close! Anyway, the ones that we do for the new year are  _much_  more fun!" She starts ticking off items on her fingers. "There's the firefly, the tigertrot, _and_ …" she exchanges a loaded look with Suki, "the  _dragon's waltz_."

Suki squeals in excitement.

"What's that?" Katara asks, clearly nonplussed. "I remember Aang taught me a waltz for Conquest Day, is that –"

" _No_ ," Ty Lee cuts her off, her voice excited. "That's just a boring stuffy-person's waltz. That's not the  _dragon's_ waltz." She pauses. "I can teach you it though! Friend's honour!"

"Uh…" Katara recoils in slight apprehension. "That's very generous of you –"

"The dragon's waltz is based off a bunch of drawings in the old dragon temples," Suki takes up the explanation, her face set with her usual wry smirk. "Because it's all about celebrating the start of mating season, it's pretty…" she searches for the word, " _steamy_?"

"The actual variant that they did in the fire sages' temple was called the  _forbidden dance_ ," Ty Lee explains, eyes shining. "It was part of the dancing dragon movements. They had specific instructors for it back at the royal academy! The dragon's waltz is a bit more accessible."

"But just as fun!" Suki finishes.

"Why would that be fun?" Katara asks slowly, a bit nervously.

"Because,  _Sugar Queen_ ," Toph speaks up, no longer convinced that the other girls are selling this properly, "between the booze and the generally celebratory ambiance,  _everyone_  just uses it as an excuse to hook up with whoever they want, no questions asked."

Her words ring a bit in the hot, steam-filled air.

"Well yeah," Ty Lee admits.

"What Toph said," Suki concedes.

Katara continues to stare at them blankly. Toph can sense the girl's heart pounding away slowly, increasing in pace every so slightly –

"Erm," Ty Lee tries, a little awkwardly, clearly confused by her complete lack of reaction, "you  _know_  what that means, right?"

She reacts to  _that_.

"Of  _course_  I know what it means," she gripes, rolling her eyes. "I'm not a  _maiden_ , you know."

"Really?" Ty Lee blurts out, before clapping a hand across her mouth. Katara scoffs and shakes her head. "Sorry! I didn't  _mean_  anything – I was just  _surprised_!"

"You don't really give off that impression," Suki supplies, a little more helpfully. "That's all."

"Nope." Katara shakes her head but her tone is curt. "I've had sex before, same as you guys." She shrugs. "I just don't find it something to write home about."

Toph scrunches her face up and jams her hands into her ears as Suki and Ty Lee gasp intolerably loudly.

" _Really?_ "

"That's  _awful_. Nobody deserves bad sex!"

Katara shrugs, a little defensively in Toph's opinion.

"It wasn't  _that_ bad," she counters unenthusiastically, "I just…wasn't really into it."

Toph is all too aware of the girl's nervousness: her pulse quickening, her palms growing damp with sweat (that had nothing to do with the steam room), the slow churn of her stomach –

She wonders. She's teased the waterbender a bit over Jet being her old boyfriend, but had given up after the boy's body was cold in the grave. She always thought Katara's steadfast denial was a prudish way to save face. The way she tensed up and  _reacted_  to him, Toph always assumed that there was a physical element in her relationship with Jet that she was embarrassed by.

It's never occurred to her that perhaps she denied it because she hadn't  _wanted_  to be with the guy. That if the choice had truly been hers, nothing would've happened at all.

Suddenly, Toph feels a little bit guilty. She's never been in a position where she's had to be with a guy she didn't  _want_  to be with. It surprises her that  _Katara_  of all people – so forthright and  _powerful_  and defensive – could be coerced into such a situation by a guy who couldn't even  _bend_. She can't even  _imagine_  what it must've felt like to be that powerless –

"Well  _that's_  your problem right there!" Ty Lee points out, as though stating the obvious. "We're not like  _guys_. You  _have_  to be into it, otherwise what's the point?" She taps at her chin thoughtfully.

_Except_  she's lived through a few weeks without her bending and knows  _exactly_  what being powerless feels like, in her own way. She knows what it feels like to crawl on the ground, living step for step, constantly wary of what would come next. To take strength from whatever small thing helped her along, unsatisfactory as it was, knowing that she deserved more, was  _capable_  of more.

Suddenly, Toph finds a part of her regretting the fact that Jet's dead in the ground. Because if he was the one taking advantage of  _her_  while she was blind and helpless, she'd enjoy beating the living daylights out of him.

It's a mark of just how  _big_  Katara is that when she'd laid eyes on Jet that time, her first instinct was still to  _help him_. By the badgermoles, Toph would've  _pulverized_  him. But  _no_. Instead, Sugar Queen in all her royal glory felt  _sorry for him_  and tried to save him and even felt  _sad_  when he died. There's a complexity there, a weighty maturity that is  _totally_  beyond her grasp and it makes Toph feel like, even though she can read the truth of everything Katara says and feels, she still doesn't truly  _understand_  her.

But that's not enough to dissuade her from trying. After all, Katara is the first girl her own age she's respected enough to be an  _equal_. And that's a lot, coming from Toph Beifong.

"Is there anyone you're into  _now_?" Ty Lee asks, still curious, still tapping at her chin in thought. The even rhythm of it ripples through Toph's senses somewhat distractingly, tearing her from her thoughts.

Katara shrugs.

"No, not really," she answers noncommittally, shrugging and casting her gaze down to the stone floor.

Toph is not nearly distracted enough to miss the fact that she's lying. Or at least, not being entirely honest.

" _No one_?" Ty Lee repeats incredulously. " _Come on_ , we're surrounded by shirtless, hot sweaty muscly guys all day! There  _has_  to be someone!"

Katara shrugs again but doesn't say a word. Her hand comes up to brush a wayward strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear.

Toph can't read minds, but she'd be willing to bet a rather large sum of money that  _Sugar Queen_ over there's thinking about  _someone very particular_  right about now.

_Talk about loose ends_ , she thinks to herself, fighting to keep the smirk from spreading across her face. She can't risk giving them away after all, not now anyway…

Because as much fun as it'd be to tease the living daylights out of the two of them, clearly there is  _way_ too much baggage involved and she is nowhere near ready to subject her seismic sense to that much drama.

"Well," Ty Lee continues, leaning forward and fixing Katara with a very knowing smirk. "My advice is to pick someone –  _anyone_  – and just  _bone_."

"Wha-?" Katara seems rather taken aback by Ty Lee's forwardness –  _as though she hasn't noticed by now that Circus Freak gets around_.

" _What_  what?" Ty Lee smiles brightly at Katara's embarrassment. "Seems to me like the only cure for  _bad sex_  is  _good sex_."

Suki giggles.

"She's not wrong, you know," she offers. "And – as Toph so accurately pointed out – Day of the Dragons is literally the perfect time!"

"You guys are  _really_  open about this sort of stuff," Katara mutters in amazement, the blood rushing to her face.

"We don't value being prissy here, Sweetness," Toph tells her, her voice gentler than normal. "If there's  _one_  good thing about the Fire Nation, it's that  _nobody's_  repressed."

"Gee thanks," Ty Lee says sarcastically. "But she's right, Katara. Nothing good  _ever_  came out of not getting laid when you wanted to! Why, men start  _wars_  over that kind of stuff!"

"Right. As though the Fire Nation didn't start every war in the last hundred years or so," Katara retorts sceptically.

_She's putting on a good show of being dismissive_ , Toph notes,  _feeling_  the girl start to pay attention in spite of her reservations.

"Yeah, but Emperor Sozin was  _single_  for  _years_! Think about it! If he'd just focused on finding a wife, he'd have been too busy channelling all that pent-up frustration into pleasing her!" Ty Lee rattles off. " _Meanwhile_ , Azulon got married early and things were peaceful! Iroh, married early, kept things peaceful!  _Ozai_ , married early –" she pauses, frowning, trying to do the mental arithmetic to keep on proving her point.

Across from her, Katara's eyebrows have shot up in a  _you've-got-to-be-kidding-me_  tone of face.

"Yeah, maybe that wasn't the best example," Ty Lee concedes, scratching the back of her head. "Guess there's a weirdo in every bunch."

Katara snorts and rolls her eyes.

"My  _point_  is," Ty Lee continues enthusiastically, " _who_  needs that sort of negativity in your life?"

"Of course," Katara snarks back, "nothing like an  _accident_  or two to keep you young."

" _Pshhh_." Ty Lee waves off Katara's reservations with a gesture of her hand. "Nothing a cup of dandelion tea won't fix, and they serve that with breakfast every morning. There's nothing to worry about! And  _anyway_ , if you  _don't_ , it just muddles up your aura and  _then_  you're in real trouble!" She pauses, frowning a little. "Actually, your aura is pretty  _grey_ , now that I think about it. You  _need_  to start taking care of that, you know!"

"I don't even  _know_  what you mean by that," Katara sighs, rubbing her forehead.

"Well, if you're going to take up her recommendation," Suki advises earnestly, "I'd say go for a  _firebender_. Don't waste your time with an Earth colony guy, they're pretty lousy in bed."

"Hey," Toph feels the need to speak up. "Don't give them a bad rep, Fancy Dancer. There's a place for earthbending guys. They're pretty fun in the sack if you're up for a bit of a rumble."

She  _feels_  three pairs of eyes descend upon her blankly before she shrugs nonchalantly.

"But knowing your speed, Sugar Queen, I very much doubt you'd be up for that," she concludes wisely. "Given how well things went with Jet –"

" _Toph_ ," Katara hisses warningly as both Suki and Ty Lee perk up in interest.

"Jet, who's  _Jet_?" Suki asks, intrigued.

Toph bites her lip, wincing.

_Shit. My bad_.

Katara sighs in resignation.

"He was Mr. Lousy-In-Bed," she explains briefly, clearly reluctant to revisit that chapter of her life in any great detail. To the girls' credit, they don't pry any further either. "And he happened to be from the Earth colonies too, so…"

"My point exactly!" Suki exclaims. She smirks at Toph. "Sorry girl, looks like you're outnumbered!"

"Whatever. Different strokes for different folks. That just means more for me," Toph waves it off. "You ladies have fun fighting over all the firebenders –"

"What's so good about the firebenders, anyway?" Katara asks stiffly, almost distastefully. If Toph didn't know any better, she'd think the girl was absolutely  _repulsed_  by the idea. Knowing her, part of her probably still is. And given her turbulent history with them, Toph doesn't envy  _that_  internal struggle.

"Well, you know what they say about Fire Nation guys," Suki says conversationally, arching an eyebrow. "They're the best lovers!"

"Yeah!" Ty Lee agrees, nodding enthusiastically. "Earthbenders are only fun if you like it rough, Water Tribe guys are really more forever guys, and  _good luck_  trying to sleep with an Air Nomad! But firebenders really bring the  _heat_ , you know what I mean?"

"Uh…" Toph can  _feel_  Katara's heartbeat hammering as she tries to keep up her cool front. "Unless you mean  _literally_ …not really?"

"Well they're really passionate and have  _loads_  of stamina!" Ty Lee elaborates. "I think that'd be a great option for you, Katara! And since Chan just extended the olive branch to you, I think you've got more doors open to you than you realize! You should really take advantage of it while you can!"

"I'd really rather not –" Katara stammers. Toph  _feels_  it start to grip her, whatever personal demons rear their heads at the first  _mention_  of firebenders, and she opens her mouth, ready to tell Ty Lee to shut up and  _mind the line –_

"Or what about  _Zuko_?" Ty Lee prattles on, changing the subject quickly, though clearly oblivious to Katara's increasing discomfort. "You guys spend so much time together now! And it's obvious that the guy needs a rebound romp,  _stat_! Win-win situation here, it's perfect!"

" _No way_ ," Katara protests, and the crushing tension gripping her disintegrates abruptly. Toph relaxes and backs down, noticing that the waterbender seems a little more comfortable with the trade in uncomfortable subjects. Her senses sharpen over the girl's perfectly manufactured indignation, so much so that even  _she_  finds herself starting to buy it… "Zuko's a  _friend_ , that'd be too weird…"

_On that last bit, she's telling the truth._ But even if Katara seems confused and a little anxious to her senses, she's relinquished the paralyzing terror of moments earlier. Toph is relieved.

"Why would that be weird?" Ty Lee inquires, perfectly curious again.

"Yeah, if anything, wouldn't that make it  _easier_?" Suki asks, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, that way there's an obvious connection in place already! You know you don't hate each other –  _unless_  that's what you're into, of course." She shrugs. "I'm not knocking hate sex."

Toph lets out a hearty chuckle, partly at Suki's words and partly at the expense of Katara and her increasing consternation, which, now that the danger's passed, is a little endearing.

"How does that make it  _easier_?" Katara argues. "You can't just turn friends-feelings into more-than-friends-feelings at the push of a button, that'd make everything so awkward."

"Have you ever met a teenage guy, Katara?" Suki smirks and shakes her head. "They do that  _all the time_."

"It's literally their number two reason for existing," Ty Lee agrees.

" _Hormones_ ," Suki whispers, nodding sagely. "They'll knock us girls for them, but good luck meeting  _anyone_  more hormonal and confused than a teenage boy."

"And  _anyway_ , even if you were worried about the whole being-friends thing getting in the way and making you awkward," Ty Lee continues, redirecting her focus back to Katara's earlier reservations and evidently misinterpreting their roots, "I'm pretty sure he'd make you forget about it pretty quickly." She cocks an eyebrow. "I know for a  _fact_  that Zuko's  _amazing_  in bed."

" _Spirits_ ," Katara groans, covering her face with her hands, "will you give that a rest already? It's  _not going to happen._ "

But Toph suspects that Katara's increasingly evident embarrassment is the primary reason why Ty Lee  _isn't_  giving it a rest. She can't blame her, after all. In spite of her better impulses, it  _is_  pretty entertaining. And she knows Katara well enough by now to know that if she  _really_  wanted Ty Lee to shut up, she'd have bent her inside out by now.

"How do  _you_  know that, Circus Freak?" she interjects casually. "That's an awfully specific area of knowledge."

After all, if it's harmless, it's all in good fun. And moreover, in Toph's opinion, she thinks Katara could  _use_  a bit of encouragement...

"Well, do I have to remind you that one of my best friends was his  _girlfriend_  for how long now?" Ty Lee retorts, batting her eyelashes. She grins wickedly. "And let me just say, I did  _not_  sit through Mai telling me  _all_ the dirty details to just keep it to myself now!"

"Oh  _do tell_ ," Suki encourages, her grin equally wicked.

" _Well_   _where does a girl begin_ ," Ty Lee begins, needing little encouragement to continue. In spite of it all, Toph issues a quick apology to Katara in her head. "But according to Mai, he's  _really_  attentive, you know? And then he changes it up a lot too – from gentle to intense in a  _flash_  –"

"That's  _hot_." Suki nods approvingly.

Toph is convinced by now that there is steam literally coming out of Katara's ears.  _She still hasn't told Circus Freak to shut up, though…_

" _Right?_  And what's even better, he's apparently got the stamina of an  _ostrich-horse_ ," Ty Lee informs them with relish, before pausing briefly. "And he's hung like one too!"

" _You guys_ ," Katara whines. Toph thinks she sounds a little mortified but not  _traumatized_  and concludes that all in all, no harm done.

"Still having second thoughts?" Ty Lee inquires innocently.

Katara hands drop from her face.

"I am  _so uncomfortable right now_ ," she seethes at Ty Lee, "I don't think I can even  _look_  at him the same way anymore. Thank you for that."

"You're welcome!" Ty Lee sings, clearly satisfied. "My work here is done!"

"Not in a good way," Katara warns her darkly.

"Oh." Ty Lee hangs her head. "Well, I tried."

"You're saying that  _Mai_ ," Toph speaks up, her voice doubtful, "told you  _all that_?"

"Mhm!" Ty Lee nods vigourously. "Why do you ask?"

Toph shrugs.

"Dunno," she remarks. "She never pegged me as the extra-talkative TMI type."

"Well, there's hidden layers to everyone you know!" Ty Lee quips, fluttering her eyelashes. "Speaking of hidden layers, what about  _you_ , Toph? Anybody caught your eye, recently?"

Toph lets out a hearty chuckle.

"Circus Freak, the  _last_  thing I need is sex advice from  _you_." She shrugs. "I'm good."

"You know," Ty Lee continues thoughtfully, "I just remembered –  _you_  were awfully cozy with Zuko at music night! You guys spent  _forever_  talking about something! Looked pretty intense. Is that why Katara here isn't interested? Because there's something going on with  _you_?"

Toph laughs even harder at that idea, preposterous as it is.

"Now you're asking if  _Sparky_   _and I_ …" She snorts and shakes her head. "Good grief, girl, you're out of your mind. Maybe  _you_  should just boink the guy and get it out of your system."

"No can do." Ty Lee shakes her head. "I have to live vicariously through you guys. He dated my best friend you know, that makes him out-of-bounds forever..."

"That sounded like a classic deflection there, Toph," Suki points out slyly as Ty Lee pouts mournfully. "Are you  _sure_ you're not interested?"

Toph rolls her sightless eyes.

"Yes, I'm  _sure_ ," she insists nonchalantly. "Look I'm sure he's gorgeous and perfectly capable in the sack and whatnot but frankly, he's a little too  _emotional_  and  _way_  too much of a gentleman."

"Emotional?" Suki asks dryly. "Him? Are we talking about the same guy here?"

" _Personally_ ," Toph concludes, barrelling over her, "I prefer a guy I can slap around a bit without feeling  _bad_  about it."

"Hence the earthbenders," Katara mutters, as though to herself.

For once, Suki and Ty Lee have been silenced by their surprise.

"Well…" Ty Lee stammers, and Toph smirks as she senses the blood rushing to  _her_  face now, "…I guess you  _do_  learn something new every day after all!"

"No kidding," Suki comments with a swift wink. "Careful, Toph, you're turning into some real jailbait here…"

* * *

THE TALE OF: TY LEE

_or,_

_(girls just wanna have fun)_

"Is this really necessary?" Katara asks, a little nervously.

They're gathered in the room that Suki and Ty Lee share, a building over from where Katara and Toph stay.

"A promise is a promise, Katara!" Ty Lee sings. "What sort of friend would I be if I backed out  _now?_ "

"One that respects boundaries?" Katara mutters under her breath. "And to be fair, you never actually made that promise."

Ty Lee catches the jibe but chooses to ignore it.

_Her need is greater than mine_ , she thinks with a sigh.

"Well, you  _can't_  just wander into the Dragon dances without even learning the  _basics_ ," Ty Lee points out, jamming her hands onto the exposed skin of her waist. "Okay, so now you're  _dressed_  for it. But you're going to make a fool out of yourself if you can't keep up."

"I was actually hoping to just maybe sit this one out –" Katara begins, tucking one loose strand behind her ear. She touches her new violet dress – high-collared, cap-sleeved, and more fitted than she's used to – nervously.

" _Not a chance_ ," Ty Lee insists, holding up a finger. "You're going to the dances and by  _Agni_  you're going to  _enjoy it_."

"That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," Toph remarks sarcastically, sitting cross-legged on Ty Lee's bed. "How much time do you spend working on your lines, Circus Freak?"

"Not much," Ty Lee admits, her face slightly crestfallen. "I happen to be a natural."

"Sure," Toph nods vaguely. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that –"

"Keep that up and she'll take it upon herself to tutor  _you too_ ," Suki points out, elbowing the earthbender in the ribs.

"Yikes. Even  _I_  can't afford that," Toph quips, piping down.

Ty Lee closes her eyes and exhales long and slow. Usually things don't really get her down, but sometimes  _Toph_  really grates on her nerves. It all comes from a good place though, so she lets it slide.

But  _still_. Sometimes the girl ought to be a little more grateful that  _someone_  wants to hang out with her at all!

But there's no time to dwell on that because right now, Ty Lee has a  _much bigger_  challenge at hand.

"The first step," she says brightly, opening her eyes and smiling at Katara, "is to just  _relax_!"

The resulting frown and tightening of the girl's shoulders indicate to her that Katara is  _far_  from relaxed.

"It'll probably be easier with a couple shots of fireball," Suki calls out, somewhat reassuringly. " _Damnit_ , we should've snuck some back from the marketplace…"

"Fireball?" Katara appears somehow  _even more nervous_ , which Ty Lee didn't think was  _possible_.

_How on earth can you be so wound up?_  She wonders idly to herself.

"New year's drink," Toph supplies with a nod. "Tastes like honey but goes down like fire. Nothing quite like it."

"And you drink it by choice?" Katara asks skeptically. "I don't know if this whole Day of Dragons thing is for me…"

"Well, you're not trying very hard, are you?" Ty Lee presses, raising her eyebrows. She steps up to the waterbender and extends a hand. "I'm going to walk you through the motions now."

Now it's  _Katara's_  turn to exhale through her teeth and grumble under her breath. But she complies, accepting Ty Lee's hand and stepping forward.

"That's the spirit!" Ty Lee exclaims in approval. She straightens her back, places Katara's hand on her shoulder before settling her other hand around Katara's waist. "This is an open position. It's good for ballroom dances that are a bit more impersonal, but if we're going to go through the dragon's waltz, you're going to need to be a lot  _closer_."

To illustrate her point, she steps forward and closes the distance between them,  _feeling_  the waterbender fight a squirm as she presses the line of her torso flush against hers.

"That's a little  _invasive_ ," Katara splutters, her face turning red as she recoils slightly.

"That's what makes it  _fun_!" Ty Lee explains brightly. She winks. "That's what you'd call a  _closed_  position."

"I don't know…" But the waterbender shelves her reservations for now and stiffly resumes the prescribed stance.

"It just feels awkward because we're two girls," Ty Lee reassures her. "It's easier when it's a guy leading."

"You're doing  _great_ , guys," Toph says breezily. She turns over to face Suki. " _Man_ , do you have any popcorn or anything?"

"The important part about the closed position is maintaining connection through a long line of contact," Ty Lee instructs, looking Katara right in the eyes. "From the shoulders right down to the hips. This makes sure of two things. One, you can follow your partner's cues through a shift in motion and two, that you have the support you need for the spins and the lifts, but without tripping over the footwork."

" _This_ ," Katara begins nervously, "sounds like  _such a bad idea_."

"It's easier when you're not thinking about it," Ty Lee advises. "Just follow my lead and you'll be fine. For example –"

She tugs on the waterbender's hand, the motion somehow forceful yet  _gentle_ at the same time. Katara lets out a sharp yelp as Ty Lee swiftly twirls her around twice and drops her into a dip, her arm and bent leg bearing her weight, their faces only inches away from each other.

"See?" she asks, straightening and helping Katara find her feet again. "Just like that! You just have to  _trust_  me."

"I thought I was going to  _die_ ," Katara wheezes, breathing heavily, a hand clutching her chest.

"I know," Ty Lee nods. "But it's fun, isn't it?"

She smirks victoriously as Katara meets her gaze.

"Maybe a little," she confesses. " _Only a little_ , though."

"Fair enough," Ty Lee nods brightly. "Now let's get you familiar with some basic footwork…"

* * *

"Alright, let's try that again," Ty Lee suggests, fighting the urge to rub at her temples and give away her weariness.

"I can't  _get it_ ," Katara insists stubbornly, crossing her hands over her chest in a huff. "I keep tripping over my own feet. And yours."

"That's because you keep trying to lead," Ty Lee points out, breathing in slowly through her nose to turn her mounting exasperation into patience and a reasonable tone. "You just need to  _follow_ , Katara."

From over on the bed, she hears a snort of laughter.

" _Ha_ ," Toph remarks, shaking her head slowly. "No chance there, Circus Freak." She jabs a thumb in Katara's direction. " _Sweetness_  might be her name –"

"It's not, though," Suki interjects in a low voice, as though to herself.

"– but don't let that fool you. Behind that sweet, sweet face is the heart of an absolute  _control freak_ ," Toph finishes triumphantly.

"I am  _not_ ," Katara snaps, turning her ire on the blind earthbender, who's now smirking and leaning back on the bed with her arms crossed. Her face falls momentarily and she touches a hand to her neck uncertainly. "Do…do you really think I'm a control freak?"

"I don't know," Toph drawls. "Are you?"

Ty Lee fights the urge to beam at Toph as a newfound determination works its way across Katara's face and posture. Sometimes she could be a brash little sociopath, but if there's one thing Toph's good at, it's  _exploiting people_.

For their own good, of course.

"One more time?" she asks innocently, smiling at Katara.

The waterbender steps right up to her and gets into the closed position without hesitation.

"One more time," she agrees firmly.

* * *

"…now for a variant," Ty Lee says, once she feels Katara getting a little more comfortable with the basic footwork. "Instead of wrapping your foot around my calf for the twists, you kick it up and wrap it around my waist instead!"

"Your  _what_?" Katara's eyebrows have shot up to her hairline.

"My waist!" Ty Lee repeats brightly. "Here, let me show you –"

Katara's eyes widen in slight fear as she does.

"You have  _got_  to be kidding me…"

* * *

"I'm going to try a lift now," Ty Lee warns Katara.

"What?" Katara asks nervously.

" _Now_."

Ty Lee shifts her weight swiftly and Katara, unprepared for the sensation of being lifted, lets out a sharp yelp as she loses her balance and tumbles gracelessly to the ground.

" _Ow_ ," she complains, winded on her back. "That  _hurt_."

"Sorry," Ty Lee apologizes profusely, hands flying up to her face. "Are you okay?"

She stretches out a hand, which Katara grudgingly takes to pull herself up to a sitting position.

"I think so," she replies uncertainly, rubbing at a spot on her lower back. "I've been through worse."

Having been on the receiving end of many a sparring session with her, Ty Lee is inclined to agree.

"But you could have given me more warning," Katara complains, getting back onto her feet.

"I know. Sorry," Ty Lee apologizes again. She rubs at the back of her head bashfully. "I thought it might work better if you didn't have a chance to overthink it."

Over in the corner, Ty Lee swears she sees Toph mouth " _control freak_ " at Katara.

She shakes her head.

"Maybe if you walked me through it  _slowly_ ," Katara suggests tentatively.

"Not  _too_  slowly," Ty Lee corrects, her face brightening. "But that could work. Here –"

They assume their starting position and work through some variation of the footwork that Katara's worked so hard to pick up.

"So say for example," Ty Lee explains, leading her through the motions, "you're in a step like this and I feel like a lift. I might warn you, but I might just go ahead if the music's too fast."

They rotate in oscillating, half-moon shaped arcs down the length of the room, feet moving in a newfound harmony.

"So, if you feel me start to shift like  _this_  –" she demonstrates, "– don't fight it or try to overcompensate, okay? Just like the turns and the dips, remember, you just yield."

"Right," Katara nods, trying to get used to the shift in balance. "Right, I think I get it."

"Ready to try?"

"Mhm."

"Great!"

Ty Lee shifts her weight and lifts Katara clear off the ground, gravity momentarily yielding to the change in balance supported by her surprisingly strong arms and torso and the rotating motion of her feet.

Katara manages the lift well but is so unused the feeling of being  _weightless_  that when Ty Lee finally moves to set her back down, she fumbles on the landing, the return of gravity turning her limbs heavy and awkward.

She crumples back down to the ground, bringing Ty Lee down with her.

"That seems like it hurt," Toph observes as besides her, Suki winces. "You guys okay over there?"

" _Nggh_ ," comes the groaning reply from below Ty Lee.

"She's alive, folks!" Ty Lee announces brightly, expertly disentangling herself from the crumpled heap of waterbender below her. "And  _almost_  made it through a lift too, good job!"

"When this is over," Katara gasps, her voice barely intelligible through the muffle of her clothes and limbs, "I am going to  _kill you all_."

Ty Lee pats her on the head reassuringly.

"That's the spirit, Sweetness," she soothes.

* * *

" _Good_!" Ty Lee says enthusiastically, as she and Katara break out of position some time later. "You're really getting the hang of it!"

"That's almost  _forbidden dance_  level," Suki comments from where she and Toph are still watching on the bed. "You picked that up pretty quickly, Katara!"

"It kind of feels like waterbending, except with two people instead of one," Katara admits, a bit shyly. She touches her braid, trying to feel for any out-of-place strands. "I didn't think it'd be this fun. I thought it'd be harder."

"The only thing that makes it hard is the speed. Picking up cues and responding to them when the music's really fast can be a lot," Ty Lee instructs, noticing how the waterbender's face is flushed and her eyes are bright in spite of herself.  _Nothing like a dance or two to get the blood going_ , she thinks to herself, privately revelling at her handiwork. "But you're a master waterbender, so this is probably nothing for you." She holds out her hand again. "From the top?"

It's been a hard-won effort but the hesitation is almost gone from Katara's movements as they whirl through the motions. Katara's focus is still on the sequence of things – Ty Lee can sometimes hear her muttering them under her breath ( _"left foot lift-wraparound, one-two-twist, right foot spin…_ ") but she responds to cues a bit more readily and  _then,_  sometimes, she  _thinks_  she can feel the girl really get  _into it_.

_After all,_ she reflects, _the dragon's waltz is all about passion and joy and desire, and there's nothing like a bit of dance to express that. Even for someone as shy as Katara._

" _That's my girl_ ," Ty Lee proclaims following an ambitious lift that turns into a bit of a throw and then a dip. "You've got this! I  _knew_  you could do it!"

"I've got this," Katara repeats, breathing heavily and almost disbelievingly. She doesn't flinch out of the closed position, her torso firmly in line with Ty Lee's even as she holds her in the dip, her leg hooked around Ty Lee's waist. "I've got this?"

"You're  _ready_ ," Ty Lee declares, breaking out of position. She feels the jubilance overwhelming her as she pretends to dash a tear from the corner of her eye. "You're the best student I've ever had!"

"Erm." Katara squirms and Ty Lee can  _see_  her fighting it, the instinct that makes her act all closed off and prudish against the one that just wants her to  _be a woman already_  and  _own it_ , "…thanks." She gives Ty Lee a small, sincere smile, wiping the sweat off her brow. "No one's really put that much effort into teaching me anything since my old waterbending master. And even then, he was a lot of work."

"Well, don't let anyone say we neglected you here!" Ty Lee responds, giving Katara a hug and  _feeling_  the girl stiffen, taken aback by the sudden show of affection.

"Right," she stammers, her arms awkwardly circling around her to return the hug. "Yeah, thanks."

"No problem!" Ty Lee gives the girl another squeeze before letting her go and taking a step back, hands on her shoulders. " _Remember_ , if you've learned nothing else today, that the dragon's waltz is just a  _dance_. And  _dance_  is just a form of self-expression! So you can try to hide yourself in a corner all you want but  _nobody_  – lousy in bed or otherwise – can take that away from you!"

"Uh…" Katara looks confused. "Is this a euphemism for something else or are we still on the same page?"

Ty Lee giggles, dropping her hands from the girl's shoulders and stepping back.

"It's only a euphemism if you  _want_  it to be," she assures her with a conspiratorial wink. "But sometimes, a dance can just be a dance, and if that's what you're comfortable with, then that's fine too! What matters is that you do what you  _want_. Don't miss out on everything because you were  _scared_!"

"What Circus Freak is trying to say," Toph supplies from her corner, now bored, "is to have fun, but no pressure. Got it, Sugar Queen?"

"I think I understand." Katara nods uncertainly, but the disquiet brimming in her eyes earlier is gone, traded for something else that's just a bit less cautious.

Ty Lee wonders if she'll ever see Katara break out of the walls she's put up so carefully around her. She doesn't really guess too hard at why they're there. Any idiot could figure out why. But life, Ty Lee stolidly believes, is for  _living_  and that includes guarded Water Tribe girls with secrets in their eyes and trickles of pink in their grey, grey auras.

* * *

THE TALE OF: IROH

_or,_

_(the sound of silence)_

It is late into the night and the grounds are quiet.

But for the firstborn son of the Emperor, sleep does not come easily.

He wears his comfortable sleeping garments, as though he's thought about climbing into bed and closing his eyes. But instead he sits at the small table by the fireplace, silently placing small round tiles onto the scored wooden surface of the game board.

Often, his gambits come to him in a stroke of midnight inspiration but tonight his thoughts are elsewhere.

He glances at the pattern on the board, trying to make sense of the randomly placed pieces. Flower tiles of alternating colours scattered on the grid. Here and there, other tiles, fewer in number, inscribed with various symbols: a rock, a ship, a wheel, a dragon, a knot…

Almost instinctively, he reaches for the lotus and sets it in port.

_I am becoming predictable_ , he thinks to himself with a sigh.  _What would another do?_

After a moment of consideration, he removes the lotus tile from its port and weighs his options.

He considers the orchid: bold, aggressive, creating chaos and discord wherever it landed. Sifu Katara had thought of it instinctively as a foil to the white lotus. A smile flits across his mouth as he picks up the tile and sets it on the board, watching as it chokes all opposing pieces in its vicinity, stunting their growth. Truth be told, it was not a bad strategy.  _Clumsy_. But not bad.

The problem with it, Iroh muses to himself, is that it neglects the contributions of all the  _other_  pieces on the board.

But that is what people forget when they play pai sho. They rely on one-trick gimmicks focusing on special tiles with powerful abilities. Matching an aggressive play with another one, instead of mundanely securing the gates. And in doing so, they forget about the most important pieces.

_It's like power_.

Ask any fool on the street where the seat of power lay, and they would reply without hesitation.  _The throne of the emperor_ , they would say.

And perhaps they would be right, Iroh concedes, except it's  _far_  too simple. And  _anyone_  who thought that every movement was dictated through the will of the Emperor  _clearly_  did not understand the intent of Sozin and Roku when they first constructed the empire.

In the same way, anyone who believes that his skill in pai sho comes from his understanding of the white lotus tile would be making an incredible oversimplification. On its own, the white lotus is next to worthless. It has little inherent aggression and next to no mobility. The only thing that gives it power is its all-encompassing ability to interact with the other pieces.

And the inability of his opponents to understand the  _first rule_  of pai sho is what inevitably defeats them.

_The problem with pai sho_ , he thinks,  _is the same problem with power._

He thinks of the Imperial Court, designed by Roku as a way to consolidate power. By all means, at the time it was a most astounding suggestion.  _Take the assembly with the most power_ , he'd suggested,  _and give it back to the people._ Following the comet's arrival and the disintegration of Sozin's initial strike into endless, bloody war, it had positively flown in the faces of everyone around him, running counter to their idea of  _conquest_.

But Roku – with his suggestions of  _ambassadors_  and  _elected representatives_  and  _fixed-term ministers_  – Roku  _knew_.

Roku knew that  _peace_  was no old wives' tale, but instead  _as_  important to the consolidation of power as war. Perhaps even  _more_  so. It had been a visionary accomplishment. By transferring the bulk of the throne's administrative power to the  _court_ , and then filling it with those who spoke with the voice of the  _people_ , he had done more than safeguard against corruption and keep the power of the throne from descending into tyranny and bloodshed. He'd sown the seeds for nearly a century of stability and balance by ensuring that the recently acquired territories felt like they  _belonged_. That they had a  _say_  in their own destinies, and that they even had the  _power_  to change it if they felt like it.

Iroh has spent the better part of his life studying General Roku. Having been born years after his death, he has never met him. But even though Sozin had been the first Emperor, Iroh does not doubt who the  _real_  father of the Fire Empire is. And if Roku had been alive right now, Iroh doesn't doubt that he would be  _ashamed_  of what the empire is becoming. At how bloated and ineffective the court has become, at how it has been infiltrated by self-serving, power-hungry sycophants and allowed the empire to decline into a turbulent era of growing prejudice and violence and, at times, abject  _savagery_.

And if Roku was to sit across from him right now, Iroh doesn't doubt that he would have been a most formidable opponent. He wouldn't have been distracted by the white lotus, but instead recognized that it was  _everything else_  that was important.

Without the humble, pedestrian movements of all the common flowers – red and white, light and dark, white jade and lilies and snapdragons alike – and the orchestrations of the grander special tiles – ships to move, rocks to block, wheels to turn, dragons to consume – the white lotus would have  _nothing_  with which to create its harmony.

A harsh caw from his windowsill tears through the night air.

At once, he is distracted from his contemplations and turns away from the board.

General Iroh frowns, watching the fierce falcon-hawk beat its powerful wings over to the edge of his desk. It is a powerful creature. Difficult to intercept. Whoever sent a message with this bird must have risked a lot to ensure its secrecy.

He unfastens the scroll tied to its pouch and when he sees the white wax seal inscribed with its plain lotus insignia, all of his attention is focused.

_Finally_ , he thinks to himself, tearing the letter open with uncommon haste.

It is unlike Jun to be quiet for such a long period of time. He scans her missive quickly, his uneasiness growing with every passing word.

_Grandpa,_

_If this message reaches you, I'm luckier than I thought. You owe me big time for this mess you've put me in._

_I investigated the origins of the knife you sent me. Some friend you are. The trail led me right into the Dai Li. You may also find it interesting that the knife appears to have been in the possession of certain acquaintances of mine who belonged to the resistance. I say 'appears' because all of these acquaintances have since vanished before I could find them or ask them anything. Courtesy of the Dai Li as well, I'll assume._

_I wish I had more information for you than that but unfortunately the Dai Li are onto me. I had the misfortune of flipping one of them off at a bar a couple of weeks ago – I know, not my smartest course of action, but here we are. I've been waiting on another lead, one of my sources within the Dai Li, before throwing in the towel altogether but I'm being watched. I don't dare send another letter to you, in case they start intercepting my messages. There are only so many trained messenger falcon-hawks that a girl can get her hands on, even one as resourceful as me._

_For the moment, I'm lying low in my flat with Nyla. I haven't stepped out in the better part of a week because I can see them camped out by my door, waiting to ambush me or worse. I don't really know what to do and frankly, I'm a bit scared. I hope that this will blow over but I'm worried that it won't. Please let me know what you want me to do. I could really use some help right about now._

_Jun_

Grand Lotus Iroh's amber eyes widen.

"How dreadful," he mutters darkly. He puts down the letter and rummages on his desk for some blank paper, mentally composing a reply to send back to her.

He's thought through every permutation of  _get out of there now_  that he can before dipping his brush into the well of ink.

But before he can lower his brush to paper, he is distracted by a knock at his door.

"Enter," he says, frowning. He glances at the window and the height of the moon in the sky.  _Who is calling on me so late at night?_

"Your Highness, I apologize for the hour," greets his man-at-arms. He holds out a scroll addressed to him, sealed with the royal flame insignia of the royal family. "But there has been urgent news from the capital. It cannot wait."

Crown Prince Iroh gets to his feet. His hands are steady even as he slits the red wax seal open and unrolls the letter.

He knows what it says before he reads the words.

* * *

THE TALE OF: KATARA

_or,_

_(changes)_

Katara takes her time dressing after her bath the next morning.

It's a luxury she usually doesn't have. Usually, they're up at the crack of dawn, trudging bleary-eyed and yawning to the clearing for Avatar training. Half the time, she isn't even  _awake enough_  to remember getting ready in the dim light of the morning: throwing on her uniform, dragging a brush through her bedraggled hair, splashing her face and rinsing her mouth out with salt and water…

But thanks to the looming Fire Empire's new year, or  _Day of the Dragons_  as they so pretentiously called it, the entire camp's been given a bit of time off from their usual duties. And the break in routine has been, well,  _jarring_  to say the least.

It amazes her that by now, she's gotten  _used_  to being in the army. That by throwing herself into the discipline of hard work, early mornings, and meditation, she's found a sense of normalcy that's been missing from her life ever since she's left the military academy and Master Pakku. She remembers what he told her before she left, that he had no doubts that she had  _exactly_  the abilities that they were looking for here. She recalls her doubts, her aversion, her despair at being torn away from the  _only_  familiar thing she'd encountered since Sokka ran away…

And as she raises her eyes to her reflection in the polished looking-glass hanging by the wall in her shared room, she considers how  _long_  ago that feels.

It's been nearly half a year since she's arrived here on that hot, midsummer's day and yet, it feels like half a lifetime ago since she's been  _that person_. It feels insane to her, almost a betrayal in fact, to admit that this is the closest thing to  _peace_  she's felt since everything began – this unlikely place with her mixed bag of friends is starting to feel like a place called  _home_  –

And maybe that's why being a soldier is so easy now, she muses, pulling the comb through her damp hair, recently washed with peppermint and lotus oil. The scent of it relaxes her and reminds her of home, so far away but also here now, a place that she brings  _with_ her, a place that in some ways  _can't_  be taken away.

_After all, it's easy to bury yourself in routine_ , she thinks, her fingers dropping the comb onto the mantel above the fireplace and deftly beginning to pull the thick, dark strands into their usual braid.  _When everything you do stays the same, you don't have time to notice anything else_.

Like how if she stops for a moment and takes the time to really  _look_ , she notices that her face isn't exactly the one she remembers. That the slight roundness of her features has hollowed out, making her look less like the child that she recalls, and more like the image in her mind she has of her mother. Her eyes are still big and blue in her face, but her nose is a bit wide, her cheekbones high and prominent in the soft oval of her face. Her lips are thin and somewhat severe, not full and plump like Ty Lee's, or soft and curving like Suki's or Toph's.

It feels so  _frivolous_ , to take the time to  _look_ at herself as she really is. As though by being so engrossed by the routine of being a soldier, she can forget that she's a  _person_ , too.

Her fingers, almost of their own accord, stop braiding her hair. She tilts her head just slightly, frowning at how the tightly pulled-back hair emphasizes the harshness of her features. She turns her head this way, and then that, her gaze critical.

She runs her hand through her hair, dislodging the braid that she'd started to work on. Her eyes follow the fall of her hair as it frames her face, softening the hard lines, drawing attention to the balance in her features. She's never thought of herself as  _pretty_  – and after everything she's been through, perhaps she's been too scared to think about it until now – but after evaluating her face in the mirror, she bravely decides that she likes her eyes, and the way the soft wave of her hair draws attention to them.

And so, she picks up the comb and tries again. It's a little while before she's satisfied with it – she's a practical creature by nature and there's no way she can bend with her hair getting in her eyes – but as she sections off parts and plaits them into a more complex knot than she would usually attempt, she thinks she's satisfied by the result she sees in the mirror.

_It isn't frivolous_ , she tries to convince herself, tying off the knot at the back of her head and evaluating the long, loose waves of hair that cascade over her shoulders and spill down to her waist.  _It's just self-expression. Ty Lee said no one could take that away from me. Not even them._

The small, terrifying reality that a part of her just admitted that Ty Lee was  _right_  isn't enough to quell the strange, silent defiance raging like fire inside of her. Her gaze drops from her hair to her body, sturdy and athletic from all her training but still swelling with a hint of the soft curves her mother had. She's a  _woman_  now – not a child, not a soldier, and certainly not a  _coward_. She's spent so much time  _hiding_  from those scars, and she's  _sick_  of it now.

_Some people wear their scars on their faces_ , she thinks to herself, her heartbeat racing as it usually does whenever her thoughts turn to him,  _they don't have the luxury of hiding._

And if he could be that brave, then maybe she can be too.

She's been so fixated on  _surviving_  that she's forgotten all about  _living_. And she can't even decide if that's a tragedy or not.

"Hey there Sweetness," Toph calls to her, poking her head through the door from the hallway. "You ready, yet?"

Katara takes one last look at herself and nods in satisfaction.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she answers, tearing her gaze away from the mirror and toward the earthbender instead. "Let's go eat."

As she locks the door behind them and they set out through the hallway toward the exit, Toph scrunches her face up in concentration.

"Did you do something to your hair, Sugar Queen? You feel… _different_."

Katara smiles disarmingly as she touches a hand to the back of her neck, the heavy feeling of her hair still alien to her. A silent rebellion.

"A bit," she confesses. "It's not that big a deal."

"If you say so." Toph shrugs and smirks as they step outside. "I'd tell you that it looks nice but I have no idea if that's true or not…"

* * *

She almost regrets it as they approach the mess hall. She imagines heads turning to give her a second glance, but truth be told, everyone is sullen and preoccupied this morning.

"It's okay," Toph assures her, almost as though she can read her disquiet. "No one's  _staring_."

"Yeah," Katara agrees. "I know."

Her body is still tense though and her heart pounds nervously as she runs her eyes around her surroundings, searching –

" _Katara_?" an incredulous voice asks from some distance away. A  _male_  voice.

She stiffens and turns around to face him, mentally preparing herself – but it turns out to just be Chan and a couple of his friends, trays of breakfast in their hands.

"Oh," she says, swallowing her vague sense of disappointment and trading it for a brief smile. "Hi."

"Hi," Chan nods, his face unusually somber. His eyes widen as he surveys her in her new dress: not the violet one that Ty Lee had approved of the day before, but the tailored navy tunic and its warm grey overcoat instead. "Is that new?"

"It is," Katara tells him, surprised that he'd notice. "I got it in town the other day with the girls. It's quite a story, come to think of it."

"You'll have to tell me sometime," Chan tells her, hoisting a smile onto his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "But it suits you. Doesn't it, guys?"

"Yeah," Ruon-Jian agrees, nodding but without much emphasis. "You look sharp."

"Thanks," she forces out, relieved.

"Like a proper girl from the Water Tribes," says Chan's other friend, a good-looking guy that she doesn't recognize. "And you know what they say about Water Tribe girls, right?" He eyes her with interest and she feels her skin crawl.

" _Malu_ ," Ruon-Jian hisses through clenched teeth, elbowing the guy sharply in his ribs. "For fuck's sake, man."

"We should go," Chan says bluntly. "And remember - I've got your back, Katara." He winks at her suddenly, conspiratorially, as though they're old friends. "In case you need a hand warding off any unwanted admirers."

"Oh. Right. Uh," Katara stammers, not really expecting  _that_  from him. "I think I've got it covered. But thank you."

Her eyes flit around her surroundings again, chancing to see if anyone's watching.

Chan and his friends walk away, somber once again.

She lets out a long slow breath.

"Was that weird to you?" she asks Toph carefully.

"A little bit," Toph admits. "Not Chan. Believe it or not, but the guy was being  _sincere_. Leave it to you to find a way to make him redeemable, Sugar Queen." She pauses, scowling. "His  _friend_ , though –"

"Who, Ruon-Jian?"

"No, the other one.  _He_  creeped me out a bit. You could afford to be less friendly with that one."

"You and me both. Thanks for the heads up," Katara mutters as they walk up to the counter and grab their breakfast trays.

As though out of habit, her eyes survey her surroundings quickly, carefully, unconsciously searching for a glimpse in the crowd: the sharp jawline, a dark red blotch marring pale perfect skin, thick black hair long enough to pull into a topknot but left wild and unkempt instead…

"Who are you looking for?" Toph prods, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Katara asks, startled. She shakes her head in denial. "No one."

The lie slips out of her mouth automatically, her hand instinctively reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her heart pounds uncomfortably in her chest regardless.

She belatedly remembers that Toph can probably  _tell_  that she isn't being entirely truthful, but thanks her lucky stars when the blind girl decides not to push further.

In fact, as they walk through the room, something seems a little  _off_  to Katara. While mornings aren't generally as rowdy or energetic as lunches or dinners, there's something weighty in the air and some of the more senior officers look downright funereal _._

"Does anything feel a little strange to you?" Toph asks uncertainly as they approach their usual table. Suki, Ty Lee, and Aang are sitting there, picking at their breakfast, but there's no one else.

"A little bit," Katara confesses quietly, her face falling a little as they join their friends and seat themselves in their usual spots.

"Morning," Aang greets them, nodding his head. He looks a little pale.

"Morning," Katara replies. Her eyes sweep over Suki and Ty Lee, who  _also_  appear apprehensive to her eyes.  _What is going on?_

Her gaze lingers on the empty spot at their table, but nobody mentions anything amiss and so she musters her resolve, putting on a nonchalant front.

"No Zuko this morning?" she asks lightly, as though she's only curious.

The response to her words is striking. Aang faces her, and there's worry in his eyes.

"No, he won't leave his room," he replies, shaking his head.

"Why?" Katara returns, her heart sinking as she starts to piece it together: the somber officers, the subdued chatter of the morning, Zuko's absence…

Ty Lee turns to her and when she speaks, her voice is low.

"You didn't hear? General Iroh packed up and left for the capital early this morning. Emperor Azulon just passed away in his sleep."

* * *

**author's notes.**  oh and there's the plot, returning from its much-needed vacation.

*cracks knuckles* this is probably the longest single chapter i've ever written. i really hope this doesn't become a trend, because i remember thinking something similar at the end of last chapter too...  _but_  if you made it all the way through, kudos for some real fanfic marathoning.

we're approaching the conclusion of the ' _falling so slow_ ' mega-chapter arc. next chapter will be the last in that series, to tie off one last thing or two before returning to the regularly scheduled storyline. it'll be rather on the shorter side (compared to the giant slog of this chapter and its predecessors) but no less eventful! i'm hoping to have it up within the next week or so, so keep an eye out for it.

on a sidenote: i think i need a beta? mainly for plot detailing, grounding and restraint, and a general second opinion to make sure things are consistent and sensible. any volunteers, please give me a shout.

liked it? hated it? let a girl know! reviews are the only known remedy for writer's block and fatigue!


	21. falling so slow (pt. vi: trust)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko struggles to come to terms with his recent loss. Jun has a visitor.

**disclaimer.**  atla belongs to bryke, zutara belongs to the fans, and nothing belongs to me. it is known.

 **author's notes.** aaand here it is. not quite the update you wanted but probably the one you deserve. i said this would be short. i lied.

enormous thanks to everyone who's been following along and leaving such enthusiastic comments! your guesses and attention to detail keep me going, i swear.

importantly, a HUGE shout-out to circasurvival for beta-reading this and sprinkling everything with a hefty dose of awesomesauce!

i give you...

**southern lights**

**chapter xxi.**  falling so slow  _(pt vi. trust)_

* * *

_you showed me hope amongst the hellequins in spring  
and you told me life was learning how to be your friend_

"rivers in your mouth" / ben howard

* * *

"Nothing," Jun mutters fiercely. "Absolutely nothing."

She kicks at the floor aimlessly. Over by the counter, an empty box of jerky topples over onto the ground. Nyla raises her head and whines at her reproachfully, but Jun ignores her.

"No leads, no witnesses, no allies, not one single thing besides those blasted coneheads…"

Jun's apartment is cluttered and tiny, a single room fitted with a cooking range, a countertop, and a trapdoor in the floor leading down to an even more modest cellar. Furnished sparsely with a single bedroll and a couple of moth-eaten armchairs, she's hardly ever regarded it as comfortable. But now, cooped up inside for what feels like  _weeks_  while waiting for a message to return from the Grand Lotus, Jun darkly thinks it resembles a prison cell instead.

Unfortunately, Iroh's response to her latest missive has been nothing but silence.

 _It's unlike him_ , Jun thinks uncertainly. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought that her letter hadn't reached him. But with the Dai Li on her tail, Jun can't risk sending another letter. They would probably intercept it, read it, and that would the end of it and the end of her.

Game over.

So in the meantime, she's been twiddling her thumbs in the cramped confines of her stuffy apartment, feeling the eyes of the Dai Li agents watching her door, waiting and biding their time. They're not stupid enough to trespass, not with Nyla guarding the door. But as every day passes and Jun's stockpile of stakeout supplies hidden in her cellar dwindles further, they get that much closer to intercepting her.

She isn't naïve enough to think they'll wait to do it under cover of night, either. The lower ring in Ba Sing Se has been a hotbed of Dai Li activity for years now. Getting used to people being hauled off by the silent authority was part and parcel of living in the walled city. Everyone knew that. Besides, all the occupants of her street gave her a wide berth, both because of her reputation and because they were afraid of Nyla. She's pinned in place, alone, with no one to help her but her faithful shirshu.

"Damn it," Jun swears, clenching her hands into a fist.

She's been outgunned from the very beginning. When Iroh sent her that knife, either he had no idea of the implications or he'd held out on her. She curses the day she received it. Hell, she curses the day she met  _him._

A knock at the door causes her to still.

She casts her eyes at the sundial by the shuttered window. An hour past midday.

 _Right on schedule_.

She and Nyla sit stubbornly motionless.

The knocking continues.

Then it subsides.

Jun lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Silence reigns within her little flat, as it usually does.

"We know you're in there, Jun," calls the voice, that loathsome, cultured, silky voice that grates on her nerves and haunts her in her sleep. "You can't stay in there forever. One day, you'll have to come out. Why not now? We'll be merciful if you do."

 _Merciful_. Jun snorts.  _Yeah right_.

She'd be lucky if they killed her quickly.

And then there was Nyla. Jun doesn't know what the Dai Li would do with a beast like her. Use her? Cripple her? Abandon her on her own? It doesn't bear thinking about.

"Still stubborn, I see," the voice continues at last, from just outside her door. "Well, no matter. We'll be back. And one day, you might find that we're not as patient as you."

 _Then go ahead and try_ , Jun thinks recklessly, biting her tongue to stop herself from blurting the words out loud.

But that's what they want. To make her careless.

Jun would be fooling herself if she thought that she was safe in her apartment. The Dai Li were earthbenders and if they wanted to, they could make their way as easily into her apartment as they could anywhere else. No, the real message of this prolonged stakeout is loud and clear.

They're toying with her. They want her to fear them, to fear for her life before the end.

This is a game, and the stakes are life or death.

And it ends when  _they_  get tired of it. Not her.

* * *

Zuko ignores the insistent knocking at his door, choosing to remain lying on his bed instead.

The mattress creaks beneath him, firm, almost uncomfortably solid. The dark red covers, usually soft and comforting, now just chafe against his skin. Around him, the walls of his room loom cold and grey, suffocating like the very air in his room. The curtains remain tightly drawn across the window, plunging everything into a murky timeless dark.

It's been two days since his uncle woke him in the middle of the night with the news. Two days since he's felt the turn of the world, moving slowly beneath his feet, ever onward without him. Two days of limbo, of feeling like he's suspended in the air, mid-flight, waiting to fall.

It all tumbles in his head, the thoughts snatching at him, eating away at the remnants of his sanity until he's certain that he's going to lose it.

He isn't sure what's worse: waiting for the inevitable or watching it unfold. All this time, he's been holding his breath - watching his uncle hold his breath - as the Emperor's days fell into decline. But after hearing the news from Uncle Iroh, seeing him remain so calm, so strong, even while grappling with the loss of his father, Zuko can't help but feel the old wounds opening up again as he lies here like an animal in a cage.

 _I want to go with you_ , he'd blurted out to his uncle as he turned to leave.  _Let me stay by your side. Let me protect you_.

Where does he belong if not with his family at a time like this? Even though his own relationship with his now-deceased grandfather was lukewarm at best, and even though his stomach churns with guilt over the twin realizations that he never got to say goodbye and that it doesn't bother him so much because Azulon was a stranger to him anyway - a stranger who could have stopped his father but didn't – the fact still stands. If he can't call Caldera City home now, when his family is mourning, then when will he ever?

 _I did nothing wrong_ , he remembers insisting to his uncle so many weeks ago.  _What if I don't forgive? Doesn't that matter?_

At the time, it all seemed so clear. He was in the right and his father had wronged him, and that was the end of it. That was all he needed to calm the storm within.

But now, it feels so naïve, hollow, like it could never be enough. With his grandfather dead, his uncle returning to a home without him hurts too much. The feeling of being apart, of being unwanted…it makes him want to reconsider, to cast aside the accumulated indignation and wounded pride of the last few years and meekly return home. To do  _anything_ , no matter the cost, if it meant he could only not be alone anymore.

Except somehow, incredibly, that notion makes him feel even worse. And the helplessness, the sheer injustice of it all rankles at his skin, eating away at him like a canker.

His fingers reach up to graze the edges of his scar and his face twists, contorting into something like a mask out of one of his mother's plays. His scar. A mark of the dishonoured prince, lost to exile and doomed to live life in the shadows. In some ways, it's become a mask of its own. He forgets that he wears it, he's had it for so long now but it's always there. A constant reminder of everything he's lost: honour, love, home, family. All of it gone, snatched away from him by his own father, with the blind complicity of everyone else in his family.

Everyone except his uncle who'd been away from the palace at the time that it happened. All this time, Zuko has been telling himself that if Uncle Iroh had been around, he would have talked some sense into his father or the Emperor. He tells himself that it might have made a difference. He doesn't know whether it's out of blind desperation or cruel hope, but it's kept him going so far.

And then the same hope, rising from the ashes like a newborn phoenix when he'd read his mother's letter, only to be dashed to pieces at the cold realization that maybe he's been fooling himself all along. Maybe his father's love is something he's never had, maybe it's not his fault, and maybe he's been searching for the wrong thing this whole time. And maybe, just maybe, he's found it in his uncle, right in front of him this whole time.

But when Uncle Iroh had rebuffed his offer –  _you will stay put, my nephew_ , he'd replied flatly without a second thought,  _until I know what's going on you will not leave this encampment, promise me_ – a part of Zuko, the only part of him that matters after everything, recoils at being left behind yet again.

The rational side of his brain argues that Uncle Iroh is doing this because he cares. That Uncle Iroh is just trying to protect him in his own way and he should be grateful to his uncle for trying to be the father he's never had. And Zuko is.

Except the dull burn of fury coiling in his gut makes it clear that he's not a child anymore, and he doesn't need to be coddled and guarded from the harsh realities of palace life. What he needs is a place where he belongs - a reassurance that unlike the scar on his face, his estrangement from his former life isn't permanent.

Up until now, he's been convincing himself that it's by his uncle's side. That Uncle Iroh regards him as a son too. He has every reason to believe it, with how his uncle has nurtured him and sheltered him from the grief that his own family has ignored, caused even. But if so, wouldn't it mean that Zuko's place should've been beside his uncle - helping him grieve, helping him cope, supporting him – instead of being shut up in his room at an encampment far away surrounded by officers and strangers?

 _Promise me that you will stay_ , his uncle commanded that night in a steely voice.  _You belong here after all, Prince Zuko_.

 _I belong by your side_ , he'd argued weakly, dashing the tears from the corner of his eyes.

 _You belong where you are safe_ , Uncle Iroh returned, his tone brooking no room for protest.  _You belong where you are loved and cherished. For now, that place is here, with your friends._

But Zuko had tried anyway.

 _My friends are important to me_ , he pointed out,  _but they are not my blood._

 _No they are not_ , Uncle Iroh allowed.  _But they are still your family_.

And that was that.

 _When I have determined that it is safe back home_ , Uncle Iroh reassured him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder,  _I will send for you. And your friends._

Resentment courses through his veins like an angry fever. He glances blankly at the writing desk by the covered window, usually immaculately kept but now strewn with unrolled scrolls of paper, overturned brushes, and smashed bottles of black ink. The viscous dark fluid seeps into the porous wooden surfaces, half-dried and congealing. All battered survivors of a briefly indulgent outburst of rage the day before, an eternity ago when he still had the energy to move.

It was all so easy for his uncle, to drop everything and move on from one strategy to the next. Everyone loved him, respected him, wanted to die for him. He made it look so easy, to make a home for himself no matter where he was.

Meanwhile, Zuko has been stuck in the same encampment for six whole years now and he still can't bring himself to call it home. And even if his friends are starting to feel comforting and familiar like the family he's never had, he can't bring himself to admit it without feeling like he's settling. Without feeling like a complete failure because if he hadn't lost his real family, he wouldn't be here in the first place.

And all the while, Zuko's mind keeps taunting him, conjuring visions of what awaits his uncle back at the palace. Even if he's been away from home for years and out of touch with his family, there is no doubt in his mind that his father is planning something. And knowing his father, it's something sinister.

He imagines Uncle Iroh being cut down at the palace gates, stabbed in the back by a guard he'd thought to trust a little too readily. Uncle Iroh being barred from the palace and the ensuing fury of those who loved the famed Dragon of the West. His father, whispering into Emperor Azulon's ears all throughout his dying days to alter his will and pass the throne of the Empire to his younger son, in spite of all his previous transgressions. What chaos that would cause. To leave the Empire in the hands of the man who had almost single-handedly rained turbulence upon the empire with his treatment of the water tribes, who was asking after the only waterbender under Iroh's direct command, who couldn't love his only son if his life depended on it…

He imagines his uncle challenging his father to an Agni Kai to settle the matter. That the winner would inherit the kingdom and the loser would spend their life on the outskirts in complete dishonour, the way Zuko had.

He imagines his father parrying, insisting that it was legacy that mattered and their heirs should fight the Agni Kai instead. What did it matter which of the two of them was stronger if they couldn't leave the empire in hands stronger than theirs? He imagines Azula and Lu Ten squaring off. He imagines the look on his uncle's face should his son lose and the kingdom be forfeited to his grasping, conniving brother after all.

He imagines it all and worse, and it's driving him out of his mind, almost out of his very skin, that he can't lift a finger to help any of it along. That he's stuck here, trapped, shouting into the void with no one to listen.

Even though people are around. Why, people have been knocking on his door all day and well into the night. Presumably to offer their sympathies and their allegiances and maybe even their thinly-disguised pity. He wants none of it. Lying back here in bed, staring emptily at the patterns in the stone of his ceiling, he feels absolutely sick of it all.

Last time, he'd wanted the world and only his uncle had showed up. Now, the world is knocking at his door and he only wants his uncle.

"Zuko?" a voice calls through the door, and he recognizes it as Aang's. He stirs, but doesn't move. "It's us again. We're worried about you."

 _Let him in_ , advises the voice of his mind that sounds suspiciously like his uncle.  _He may not be your family by blood, but there are things so much more important than that._

But he claps a hand to his forehead and shakes his head. He doesn't want them to see him like this – paranoid and shaken and utterly falling apart at the seams. He wants to go home, he wants to be okay, and nobody can give him these things so he just wants everyone to go away.

"You haven't stepped out of your room since it happened," Aang continues, his voice steady but concerned. "That's – that's a long time to be cooped up in there. We just want to make sure you're okay."

It's almost as though he's been reading his mind. But Zuko snorts to himself again.  _As though anything Aang can say or do could possibly make anything okay._

"He hasn't eaten," he hears Katara hiss from somewhere beyond his door. "Tell him he needs to eat something."

Irrationally, he finds himself wishing that his friends would stop wasting their time on him. That they could find someone who was actually worth their efforts and their concern. Because fool that he is, he's too busy mourning the loss of a family that doesn't even consider him good enough to stand by their side during their worst moments. Hell, they won't even deign to support him in his.  _More often than not,_  he muses grimly, _they cause them._

"We brought you food," Aang speaks up, his weary voice faltering only a little bit. "Again."

"Zuko, let us in." Now it's Katara speaking and her voice is firm, but breaking a bit at the end. "Please."

 _If only she knew the truth, she wouldn't be wasting her time here_. The louder chorus of his instincts instantly drowns out the part of his spirit that springs with hope eternal, that's beside itself because she's here – that she still cares, despite everything. All he can hear are the voices that clamour for him to curl up into a little ball and forget everything, telling him that anything that  _isn't_  his family telling him that they need him with them won't make a single difference, and she's wasting her time on him and he never deserved her anyway so why is she still here?

_Why are any of them still here? Why do they care?_

"Let me handle this." Toph's voice filtering under the crack of his door is quietly capable, before she raises it. "Sparky, that's enough. If you don't let us in by the time I count to ten, I'm breaking down your door."

Oh, he doesn't doubt it.

"Ten. Nine."

He contemplates letting her do it, too. That way they'd know not to interfere next time. Except, then there'd be a giant hole where his door is and he'd have to kiss any privacy of his down the drain.

"Six. Five."

But then –

 _Love is not a weakness_ , the voice of his uncle reminds him, taking him back to another time when he lay fallen in the dirt, downtrodden by the weight of his inadequacy.  _Sometimes it is difficult to see in the darkness. Sometimes it is easy to feel like the love we carry is more a burden than a gift_.

Until this moment, he doesn't think he's truly understood the meaning of his uncle's words. But all of his instincts snap at him to shut everything out, to cut his heart out from his chest if he could because only then would everything stop hurting, and at the same time, the weight of everything bears down on him like the heavy stone blocks in the walls pressing into the ground, sturdy and unyielding, and how much he needs to feel it in spite of it all because otherwise what would the point of anything be?

He considers it all deliriously in a span of a moment, before a subtle flickering of the dim light in his room distracts him. The curtains are still tightly drawn across his window but somewhere beyond them the sun still blazes, too bright for his eyes to handle. It could be midday or maybe early afternoon, judging from the intensity and warmth of the light that manages to creep through where the heavy maroon fabric ends and briefly illuminates the room for half a feverish second.

Then, the light shifts and dims again and he lets out an aggravated sigh. Flame trickles from his mouth and nostrils before he finally swings out of bed, planting his bare feet firmly onto the cold stone floor, and trudging slowly to the bolted iron door.

"Two –" Toph is counting, her voice rising in a warning threat when he slips the bolt and swings the door open. The light pouring in from the hallway is blinding and he flinches, staggering back a step, shielding his eyes with a defensively raised forearm.

He doesn't look at them right away but he feels some of the tension sap out of them the instant they see him. He can sense their hesitation too as they struggle to say something to him that isn't presumptive and his irritation with the whole thing mounts even as a part of him is relieved to see them, that they're here.

"About time," Toph says at last, crossing her arms across her chest defiantly. "Otherwise I was going to do it, you know."

"I know." The words scrape over his throat, hoarse and unwilling. It's the first thing he's said out loud since he bid his uncle goodbye. Against his more stubborn impulses he raises his eyes to glance at them briefly – Toph on edge and alert with her arms crossed, Katara with a tray of food in her hands, Aang holding a pitcher of water in his – before his gaze drops again.

"Well don't just stand there," he forces out dismissively, turning on his heel and stubbornly making his way back to his bed. Even now, he is unsure of whether he wants them here for any purpose other than to drive them away, to make a point to them or more like just to himself. He sits on its edge this time, pushing the rumpled covers to the side instead of lying down again and in some ways that's probably an improvement in itself.

The tentativeness of their motions grates hardest on his nerves. They tiptoe around him, exchanging looks with each other whose meaning he doesn't want to comprehend, silently pulling the door shut behind them. He keeps his gaze fixed to the stone-tiled floor, bracing himself for the inevitable condemnation as they take it all in. The state of his room, a dark and silent battlefield of crumpled sheets and discarded clothing and broken bottles of ink. The muffled, wet sound of someone swallowing slowly, a throat clearing quietly, lips pressing together in tightly held concern. They hesitate, hovering on the periphery of his senses, too far away, too close, a happy medium nowhere in sight.

It's this very thing that he's been trying to avoid. He's tired of being treated gently, as though he's some invalid. It reminds him sharply of his uncle, of the last time he'd been helplessly bedridden.

He feels the bed depress slightly as someone sits next to him. "Here," Aang says, lowering the pitcher of water into his hands. "I'd give you a cup but I think you must be really thirsty now."

His mouth tightens as he gazes at it, the cool, clean water rippling within the clay pitcher. Only then does he pay attention to how dry his throat and tongue are, how he can't even remember the last time he drank anything and that maybe on this matter, the Air Nomad is right.

He lifts the pitcher to his lips, tilts it back, and feels the cool water rush into his mouth. He swallows, hesitantly at first, but then quicker and more greedily as his body springs back to life and drowns out the shouting of his mind, overwhelming him with the need for satiety. The water spills over his lips, trickling down his face, dripping onto his lap, and when he lowers the pitcher to catch his breath, it's mostly empty.

He feels their eyes on him, but he doesn't want to meet them yet. He doesn't want to see the pathetic thing he's become, reflected in them.

"Thanks," he rasps out instead, wiping at his face with the short sleeve of his thin red tunic.

"Feeling better?" Aang asks simply, taking the pitcher back. Zuko nods once. The water's done a lot to clear the fog in his head.

"How are you holding up?" This from Toph, leaning against the wall by his bed. He shrugs.

"I don't know," he confesses shortly. The guilt returns as he faces it again. "Okay, I guess? I barely knew my grandfather."

His admission catches them off guard, he sees. They must have expected him to be agonizing over the loss.  _It's time they learned what a terrible grandson I am_ , he thinks to himself sourly. He catches the quick exchange of glances between them, the apprehensive understanding – or misunderstanding, he doesn't care to clarify.

He awaits their judgment, feeling detached from it all. In some ways, he invites it. But instead –

"Okay enough for a bit of food?" Katara asks from some distance away, breaking the weighted silence.

The warmth in her voice amazes him.  _How can she still want to be here after seeing how pathetic this all is?_  Even more surprising is feeling his stomach awaken, as though in response to her words. He still can't bring himself to meet her eyes, so he nods quietly instead.

She approaches him cautiously, as though he's some wounded feral creature that's gone skittish and she's trying not to set him off. But when she presses the tray into his lap gingerly, fingers accidentally brushing his own as she lets go and retreats a safe distance away, he sees that there isn't pity in her eyes, only concern.

Feeling his spirits marginally rise, he balances the tray on his lap and pulls the lid off one of the dishes. The porridgey  _jook_  is still steaming hot and he reaches for the spoon without complaint.

"They've only been serving mourning food," Katara explains, as though she's apologizing. As though she thinks that right now, he has any appetite for food that isn't mushy and bland.

"I know," he makes himself say, before transferring a bite to his mouth. It tastes of rice and water and a hint of salt, but he relishes it all the same. Somehow, as though they knew, it's exactly what he needs. "They'll stick to the mourning diet until the emperor's body has been cremated, probably a few more days at least..." He gulps down a few more mouthfuls before he catches the uneasy look that Aang and Katara exchange. "What?" he asks them, setting down his tray and feeling his stomach roil.

Katara presses her lips tightly together and shakes her head, her wide blue eyes fixed on Aang's.

" _What?_ " Zuko repeats more insistently, throwing an accusing stare at Aang.

Aang lowers his grey eyes. "They cremated him today," he sighs.

Zuko's eyes widen. "Today?" he echoes incredulously. He pushes the tray off of his lap and it balances precariously on top of his covers.

Aang nods sadly. "But –" And Zuko's stammering now because it makes no sense, it's happening  _too_ soon, "but that's not right! The emperor's body is supposed to rest for a period of time and they're supposed to hold a state funeral and have the Fire Sages announce the succession –"

_The succession._

His hands tangle through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. His worst fears are rearing their heads in broad daylight now, no longer mere insubstantial figments of his imagination that torment him all night long, but real, materializing before his very eyes.

"Uncle Iroh wouldn't even have had time to make it back to the capital by now," he realizes, nails dragging from his scalp to bite into the skin stretched thinly across his temples. He's positively shaking now. Agni help him, everything he's always feared, everything he's tried to warn Uncle Iroh about - it's all coming true right before his very eyes and there isn't a damned thing he can do about it. "What –"

"They said," Aang goes on, his voice steady and calm, "that your father declared –"

Zuko closes his eyes, jaw clenched and heart drumming in his chest as he remembers with rising dread Uncle Iroh's calm face as he confidently insisted that his father couldn't –

" – joint rule," continues Aang. "Between himself and his brother. He said there was no point in forcing a contest of succession, not now when things need to be stable. That right now, a smooth transition of power was most necessary for peace."

" _What?_ " Zuko chokes, jumping to his feet. His fists clench tightly as he tries to make sense of it all. His voice is a stuttering crack of sound in his distress. "Are – are you sure?"

The tray bounces off the mattress, crashing to the ground with a loud clatter. The little clay bowl cracks into a thousand sharp shards, its mushy contents spreading onto the floor every which way. He pays it little heed, but from the way his companions' heads twitch at the motion, it is clear the same cannot be said of them.

"Well…yeah," Aang affirms, appearing unsure of how to redirect his sudden distress as though it's lightning. "That's what they announced at lunch today –"

"My father," Zuko heaves out, voice strengthening and disbelief growing with every word, "told the entire Empire of his own volition that he was going to share power…with my uncle?"

Aang nods and he feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. The room is spinning around him, or maybe it's just his head, he doesn't know, nothing makes sense anymore –

"Take it easy, Sparky," Toph speaks up, and at once, her solid form is holding him up, guiding him back to the edge of his bed. He doesn't sit down again, but leans against one of the solid wooden posts at the corner for support.

Out of the corner of his eyes, a swish of blue and white. Katara silently kneels on the ground by his bed, hands straightening the scuffed wooden tray, bending the gluey porridge off the ground with a twist of her wrist, picking at the broken pottery shards with delicate, methodical fingers.

He's dimly aware of Toph as she tilts her head, flexes her fingers, and pushes a hand out in front of her. Katara turns her head to flash a small grateful smile at the earthbender as the rest of the small clay pieces rise into the air as one and land on the tray in a neat heap. Toph nods almost imperceptibly before the two of them return their attention to him, faces schooled back to neutrality.

Toph's only a pace away, Aang still sitting with pitcher in hand on the bed, Katara hovering half its length away. They're not far enough, not nearly close enough. Yet there's something faint rising within him, like they're exactly what he needs. It eases the sting of being left behind a little. Only a little. But it's better than nothing. It brings him back, helps him focus.

"That," he mutters, shaking his head, "that is so unlike him."

"What is?" Aang inquires, wide-eyed.

"My father," Zuko explains curtly, rubbing at his forehead in agitation. "Being peaceful. He has something up his sleeve. I know it."

He feels the doubt radiating off Aang, and Toph arches an eyebrow too. But Katara has always been ready to believe in the worst when it comes to his father and when he chances a glance at her he sees that she at least is not so easily convinced.

"Well, if you think about it," she says slowly, and he can see the wheels turning behind her eyes, that she has arrived at the same conclusion that has him unsettled. "Prince Ozai gains a lot more from joint rule than General Iroh. He isn't even the heir. The throne by all rights belongs to the older son. But now –"

"Now what?" Aang asks, ever the voice of reason. He sets the pitcher down on the hard ground next to the tray by Katara's feet, stands up, turns to Zuko hesitantly. "I know you don't think very highly of your father, Zuko – probably rightly so, but –"

"My father," Zuko forces his voice to stay calm but he's still quivering, "is the cruellest man I've ever met. And now he's wrangled his way into sharing the throne with my uncle." He shakes his head. "I'm not even sad about the emperor, you know? What a horrible grandson that must make me." His mouth twists, eyes darting from the floor to each of their faces in turn. He wonders what they see when he looks at them. A pale, gaunt spectre with jittery eyes and an empty space where his heart should be? "I'm just so scared for Uncle. He's an idealist and I know he can maneuver his way around a court plot better than anyone else but…" he flounders, wondering if everyone else thinks he sounds as paranoid as he thinks he does.

"Your uncle's also the rightful ruler," Aang points out. "Maybe he'll have to share power with his brother, maybe he won't –"

"I know Uncle Iroh," Zuko insists through gritted teeth. "He would never risk a war to consolidate his place on the throne. He would rather work with my father –"

"Well, your father isn't stupid either," Aang points out, rather sensibly. "Cruel and selfish doesn't necessarily mean foolish. And I'm sure your father realizes that even if they are equals now, General Iroh is the older brother, the firstborn. He's the one who was raised to rule. He's the one who controls the army. He's the one that the people trust. Even Prince Ozai would know better than to challenge him."

"I know," Zuko admits. "But –" He stops in his tracks and tries to think. Tries to weave together the threads of all the different things eating away at his fraying sanity into something coherent for the others to follow. He crosses his arms and exhales through his teeth. "My father and my uncle have always…been at odds with each other when it comes to a plan for the future of the Empire. Uncle Iroh, as you saw, believes in building bridges and committing to a future for everyone, Fire Nation or not. My father…has other inclinations."

"Fire Nation superiority," Katara supplies, stepping forward, face darkening. He nods his head at her.

"More or less. And what's more important is not that  _he_  believes it, but that his supporters do too." He plies Aang with a long, searching glance. "You were correct to point out that my uncle has the support of the army and of the people. But my father's been sitting at the emperor's side, issuing his own edicts. And his supporters are in the palace, with sway in the Imperial Court _._ And now that he has surrounded himself with like-minded people who share his vision for the future…" he pauses, hand gripping the wooden bed post supporting his weight until his knuckles go white, "…I just wonder if the support of the army and the people will be enough to keep him under control."

"But isn't that what the court is for?" Aang counters, frowning. "I thought the whole point of having all those elected representatives and ambassadors in the court was to disperse all the power from the ruling family and keep them in check."

"Yes," Zuko agrees. "That  _was_  the point, way back when Emperor Sozin and General Roku first founded the empire. But Fire Nation elected representatives outnumber the voices from the colonies now. And the ones who control the court are more likely to agree with my father's view of things than my uncle's. They like things the way they are now, after all, and my uncle wants to change everything." He drops his voice to a soft whisper, feeling sick at the thought of it all. "And he's going to be all alone in that den of vipers. That's why I'm worried."

His fingers flex, nails dragging against the wooden post as though to emphasize his disquiet. The others don't say anything, contemplating his words with a reticence that only punctuates their doubt.

"I don't know," he says at last, clapping a hand to his forehead when their silence draws out longer than he's comfortable with. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I  _am_  overthinking this."

"We never said that," Toph speaks up and her voice is gentle. "You're afraid for your uncle for very good reason. But if there's one thing Grandpa's good at, it's manipulating people." Her mouth twists into a wry sort of grimace, and he can't help the scoff that escapes him.

"Yes, but –" his gaze flits over to Katara standing grim-faced a dozen paces away, and he straightens, staggering half a step forward because if anyone will understand, it'll be her. "But now that he's put the idea of joint rule out there, the people will expect nothing less." He sees her nodding slowly and he is heartened enough by the sight to continue airing the thoughts that trouble him. "If my uncle refuses to share rule, my father's supporters will be displeased. They might silently plot to have him overthrown or even revolt against him openly. It isn't a good way to start your reign."

"But neither is challenging the rightful heir outright," Katara points out gently, somehow affirming his worst fear and dispelling it at the same time. "No matter what Prince Ozai has planned, he can't do it without angering General Iroh's supporters." She shrugs helplessly. "So, it looks like your father needs your uncle a lot more than your uncle needs him. For now."

"For now." The words are meant to reassure but they settle ominously over him like a shroud instead.

"So why are you still worried?" Toph asks him, ever perceptive. "Grandpa's got the throne and he's also got your dad in a chokehold. Isn't that enough?"

"It should be," Zuko mutters, and he's pacing now, trying to make sense of it all. "It should be enough, but –"

"But what? Why are you still worried?" Toph continues to prod, shaking her head. "The sooner you spit it out, the sooner you can get it off your chest."

Zuko turns back to the wooden post at the corner of his bed, leaning against it as though in defeat. "I know. I just -" His hand rakes across his scalp, a futile habit by now. "I just wish I understood. I wish I knew what my father was thinking."

"Well, it looks like he's thinking about how to keep a steady hold on the throne without letting the empire fall apart into chaos," Aang says, putting a consoling hand on Zuko's shoulder. He flinches at the gesture but doesn't shrink from the air nomad.

"That's just it, though," Zuko gripes. "That's so very unlike him. The man I knew wouldn't do that. Not without a fight."

"Maybe he's changed." The tone of Aang's voice conveys to Zuko that even he considers it unlikely. Nevertheless, he persists. "It's been a long time since you've known him."

Zuko scoffs again and shakes his head vehemently. "That's what my mother said," he spits out, still finding the words unpalatable. "She – she says that he's changed. That ruling's made him a better man." Contempt turns his words into a sneer.

"You don't believe her," Toph remarks flatly, turning her sightless face in his direction.

"I want to," Zuko confesses, hanging his head. "But I can't."

Toph nods, as though she understands exactly what he's talking about. To his surprise, she steps right up to him and comfortingly puts a hand on his back. She doesn't say anything, but he remembers that she knows all too well what it's like, having incorrigibly controlling parents.

"He's…" Zuko presses on hoarsely, encouraged by the quiet solidarity, of being taken seriously for once, "he's done such terrible things, you can't even imagine. Not just to the Water Tribes –" he briefly turns to face Katara in acknowledgment, feeling the customary jolt in his stomach at the sight of her face crumpling slightly, " – but even to his own people." He closes his eyes, remembering it with disconcerting ease, as though it haunts him at the edges of his subconscious and threads through his nightmares. "He was willing to sacrifice an entire battalion of raw recruits to thwart the revolt of Omashu. Did you know that? When Bumi's forces were too much for his troops to contain, his solution was to lure them away with," he breathes heavily through his nostrils, his fists clenching tightly, " _fresh meat_."

He opens his eyes to face them defiantly, watching the slow horror of comprehension dawning across their faces.

"I thought your uncle was supposed to be in charge of the army," Aang breathes out, his voice rising barely above the hush of a whisper as though he doesn't trust himself to say anything more.

"Normally he would have been, but this was around the time of the polar wars. My uncle and the emperor naively made the mistake of giving my father a chance to prove his mettle." He turns to face the curtained window, where the flickering light at its edge casts strange shadows across the room. The congealing ink still dripping slowly from broken glass bottles, the crumpled uniform on the ground the same shade as the cascade of his bedcovers, and how the half-light stains it all the colour of blood. He feels them watching him slowly in mounting horror as he continues doggedly. "He founded the city of New Ozai with the blood of good, loyal soldiers who were probably our age and just wanted to serve their country," he says to them, still facing the window listlessly, "and he wouldn't hear a word against it. Anyone who spoke out wasn't just being unpatriotic, according to him – they were challenging his own honour. As though there's honour in slaughter." He wills himself to stop shaking, to banish the memory of his father's sneering voice and the agony of fire on his skin, but –

"And to teach everyone a lesson against speaking out, he even…he –" he chokes out, his throat constricting and a hand coming up to briefly touch the charred red mask of his scar, now mended but never healed. Almost instantly, his hand drops and his throat becomes impossibly tight and he finds himself incapable of going on.

From somewhere behind him, too far away, he hears Katara make a strange, strangled sound, like all the air is being squeezed out of her lungs.

"Agni Kai," she gasps, so quietly it's as though she just talking to herself, as though no one else can hear her.

But he does. He feels his blood turn to ice in his veins. Everything stops for a moment.

His head whips around instantly. She flinches visibly at the intensity of the stare he throws at her.

"I mean," she stammers breathlessly, quailing under the iron of his gaze, " _spirits on high_."

He watches her wildly, watches the heartbreaking look in her eyes, big and blue like the sky as they widen in shock and devastation. Watches the shadow pass over her, as though a cloud's gone and blocked out the lovely radiant sun of her face.

_Does she know? How can she know?_

The next thing he knows, she's right in front of him and then she throws her arms around him, knocking him back against the bedpost with the force of it and –

 _Agni_.

"You don't have to say a thing," she whispers, her voice breaking with something that sounds like tears, and now it's her body shaking, trembling against his own and all of his thoughts vanish – "I'm so sorry – I –  _we_ believe you, Zuko." And just like that, his disquiet ebbs.

He can't remember anyone holding him like this. Ever. As though he's falling and she's his only lifeline. Her arms encircle him tightly and he's reminded of the sheer strength in them, but also the compassion in there too –

The scampering beat within his chest that frenzied at the memory of that Agni Kai slows to a steady hum of pure, utter bliss, even though she's crying but it's not because of him but for him, with him –

And – and her head fits right into the crook of his neck just the way he knew it would, and she smells like the ocean and waterlilies, and she's wearing her hair down, out of the braid for once and he didn't even notice until now – all this time he's dreamed of this and now –

His arms are uselessly by his sides and he wants to lift them, to wind them back around her so that this moment never ends – but there's a growing disconnect within him where his body remains quite frozen in place while his mind races a mile a minute. Probably because he's still in shock.

Then Toph's hugging him, and then Aang too and he couldn't move anything of his even if he tried – their weight against him is crushing, but reassuring, comforting – he can't remember the last time anyone has hugged him like this and now he's almost drowning in their many-armed embrace.

 _You're one of us_ , he hears in the gesture.  _We're here with you all the way_.

They don't have to say it, but they do.

"You're not alone," Katara says, her voice muffled by the cloth of his tunic. "You know that, right?"

"You've got good intuition, Sparky," Toph tells him tactfully, "and if you think your old man's up to something, that's good enough for me." She gives him a reassuring squeeze before casting an amused glance at Katara. "Not sure if it's something to cry about, Sugar Queen. What's with the tearbending?"

Katara makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a scoff and a laugh. She shakes her head but she doesn't pull away.

Every part of him rues the infuriating disconnect between his mind and body as she presses her face into the crook of his neck. Because he wants to feel everything properly, he wants to store it in a corner of his mind as a talisman against the looming dark ahead of him. He's vaguely aware of it all – her body pressed against his, her arms gripping him tightly, the warm wet of her tears against his throat, the feeling of her lips curving into a small smile against the hollow of his throat. And yet his overworked, exhausted mind processes everything sluggishly, reacting to his senses as though he's very far away, watching it all happen to a different person.

"The monks used to say that instinct is the first and last sense," Aang speaks up, tearing him away. His voice is somehow calm even through the loaded emotions running through everyone. "That it always picks up on the things we miss. When someone's lying to us, or means us harm." He raises his head and fixes Zuko with his clear, calm grey eyes. "I think you're very wise to listen to that instinct, Zuko. I don't think it'll lead you astray at all."

Zuko swallows, feeling something very strange swelling within him that fills up his chest and makes it hard to breathe. Something that makes him feel powerful and impossibly vulnerable at the same time.

 _We may strive for glory_ , he remembers Uncle Iroh telling him,  _but we live and die for love._

Once upon a time, half a lifetime ago it feels, he'd spoken out against his father's cruelty and received a devastating lesson written onto his face with fire. He thought himself cut adrift without honour or purpose. Bereft of love, of loyalty, of hope.

But now, when he's never felt more ashamed of falling apart, his friends are here with him, empty of judgment and condemnation and all the other things he's learned. They're here, ready to listen, willing to understand, prepared to comfort him, agree with him, support him with whatever they can in order to make him feel better. Ready to remind him that his uncle was right despite it all, that it's not the ties of blood that make family, but something far stronger.

"Thank you," he whispers, closing his eyes. A tear runs down his scarred cheek. "All of you –"

The day is coming when his uncle will summon him back to the capital. And when he goes to face his father and his narrow ambitions again, he will have precious little to call his own. No legions. No political alliances. No hordes of people chanting his name. Only three bending masters and their unfettered trust. And even though his uncle left him behind again, he feels the iron grip of his resentment weakening. Overwhelmed by the bare hands resting against his back.

He imagines facing his father again, with the weight of his honour and the three of them at his side. Strangely, he still can't imagine losing.

" _Thank you_."

* * *

"That's it," Jun seethes as the knocking on the door recommences. "I can't take it anymore."

It is an hour past midnight and the night sky is clouded over, starless and moonless. It's the perfect setting for a macabre end to an otherwise good life, she reflects ruefully, stocking her belt with vials and vials of the venom that she milks from Nyla daily. All of her other supplies are gone – all she has left are whatever weapons she's managed to stash in her cellar.

And by now she's had enough.

"As they say, the best defense is a good offense. If those Dai Li bastards want a fight," she says to Nyla grimly, saddling her up, "we'll give them one."

The blind shirshu slavers and growls menacingly at the tone of Jun's voice.

The bounty hunter finishes snapping on her armour and swings onto Nyla's back. She straps herself in, bracing herself. She's been in fights with benders before, but she has no idea how many agents are waiting for her outside…

But as long as there's room for Nyla to move, she can count on the shirshu to deal as much damage as they take. With speed and the element of surprise on their side, maybe, just maybe they have a chance…

Either way, they're as good as dead. Might as well make this the spot of their last stand.

"Hyah!" Jun commands, digging her heels into Nyla's spurs.

The shirshu moves with lightning speed, crashing through the apartment door like a storm and crushing the Dai Li agent waiting behind it.

Cold night air rushes into her nostrils, sweet, crisp, clean. She fights the urge to gasp it in, fill her lungs with air that doesn't taste like dust or musty wood or Nyla's stale treats. But there's no time.

Her eyes flick up, scanning her surroundings swiftly. The night is cloudy, dark but for a sliver of the moon hanging like a sickle in the sky. The rows of apartments lining her street are deserted.  _No witnesses._

One agent lies crumpled beneath the remains of her door. She counts nine of them remaining, marking their positions in the battleground of her mind. Three wait on the ground, a small distance away from her doorway. The other six are scattered on top of the rooftops across the street, their pointed hats silhouetted against the faint grey of the sky. Preparing an aerial advantage, no doubt.

 _Not if I have something to say about it_.

Before they have a chance to process or react, Jun moves _._

With a nudge of her foot against Nyla's flank, the shirshu leaps into the air, above the heads of two Dai Li waiting a few paces behind their first unlucky comrade. Jun swings her whip with one hand. It coils around the first agent and flings him bodily against the second. Both tumble and roll along the ground, crashing into the dilapidated storefront opposite her apartment.

Nyla's tongue lashes out at the speed of light, taking out another Dai Li agent as he flexes into a preparatory bending stance. He groans and falls to the ground, paralyzed.

"Now up," Jun hisses, pulling at Nyla's reins with her free hand.

The shirshu obeys, snarling as she bounds up the front of the terraced storefront with a speed that belies the creature's bulky appearance.

By now, the agents are reacting to her bold onslaught. They track her motion, and she processes them as though they're moving in slow motion.

Two agents leap down from the rafters toward them, their hands outstretched as the ground ripples below them –

Jun snaps her whip, pushing them out of her way and they plummet to the ground. As they land, she feels the boulders sailing in her way.

She nudges at the shirshu's side again and Nyla bounds up, higher still.

They scale the height of the empty building effortlessly, where the earthbenders have trouble reaching them with their ground-based attacks.

Nyla's long tongue catches one of the remaining Dai Li at the elbow and the other by the back of his neck. Both crumple to the ground, immobilized.

"Not bad," Jun remarks to Nyla. "Remind me to give you a nice treat if we get out of this, girl."

Nyla growls in response and snaps her teeth as Jun leads her to the edge of the building and they survey the aftermath of their first daring move.

Three Dai Li agents are paralyzed, while one remains unconscious beneath the splintered wood of Jun's front door. The remaining six are regrouping slowly, their shadowed heads tilting up to face her.

"Well, I'm here," Jun taunts them, brandishing her whip at the ready. "Is this what you were waiting for?"

As though by some unspoken command, the group splits off into some sort of formation, in neat rows as uniform and rigid as the iron lanterns lining the street. Two move forward, another pair moves back, and the remaining ones launch themselves into the air.

"Right," Jun comments. "Nyla,  _down_!"

The shirshu jumps.

The crack of Jun's whip is deafening as it splits the air. It coils around one agent's arm and she flings him against the building wall. He slams against a boarded-up window, breath whooshing out of him.

Nyla's flicks her tongue at the other agent, who dodges and bends a pillar of earth at the pair of them –

Jun digs her heel into the shirshu's flank and Nyla curls to the side, evading the pillar by a fraction of an inch. Then, she reorients herself and dashes along the pillar's side, bearing down on the enemy agent with ferocious speed.

The pillar beneath them crumbles into dust and the pair of them go falling.

Jun flattens herself and pulls at Nyla's mane.

The shirshu balls itself up and tumbles in the air, landing on its feet on the ground with a feline sort of grace.

This time as they run toward their adversaries, the ground beneath them ripples. Nyla growls in frustration as her limbs struggle to find purchase on the treacherous ground.

" _Up_ ," Jun commands, her whip cracking left and right as the agents begin to dodge her strikes. "We need to get  _up!_ " Nyla struggles to obey, righting herself on her haunches and trying to launch herself back into the air. But the ground churns beneath her and interferes with her footing.

"Ugh," Jun seethes in exasperation, as her whip cracks at nothing and the agents weave through the air as though made of smoke. "Come on, girl, come _on_ …"

She reaches into her belt in desperation and flings a vial of shirshu venom at where an agent lands six feet away from her. The glass vial smashes to pieces against the wall beside his head. The toxin emerges in a cloud and the agent coughs, doubling over in pain.

The ground momentarily stills. Nyla regains her balance and leaps into the air again, landing clumsily on a second floor balcony of one of the deserted apartments. She pants heavily.

A cracking sound fills the air around them. Jun looks up to see the stone blocks cemented together to form the walls above them, slowly coming apart above their heads.

"Fuck," Jun swears, uncoiling her whip as the blocks begin to fall.

She slashes at the blocks, pushing them out of the way, in some cases snapping them back to the ground where the Dai Li wait, in other cases, smashing them to rubble with a well-placed strike…

One slips past her and catches her at the shoulder.

A grunt escapes her as she drops the reins.

Then, the ground beneath her ripples. Nyla sways and falls into her side, taking Jun with her.

But the floor doesn't meet them, because it too has disintegrated, block by block.

 _Shit_.

The two of them fall through the air among the scattering rubble.

Jun barely has time to register the ground knocking the air out of her lungs before the rubble falls all around them. She curls into a ball, as small as she can, protecting her head, her vitals as the rocks bounce off her shoulder and hip.

 _Ouch_. The pain sparks through her nerves, white-hot and blinding. She grits her teeth tightly together, struggling not to cry out as the rocks smash into her. Gasping, choking on the dry pulverized bits of rock and earth that fall into her face. Her fists clench tightly as she struggles to hold herself together, nails unearthing small red rivers in the skin of her palms.

When the rocks finally stop and they are buried a foot deep in rubble, she chances a breath to assess the damage.

Nyla's breath is warm against her cheek, though short and in sharp bursts. Jun doesn't feel that much better. Every inch of her screams in protest. Her limbs are in agony where the rocks bear down on her frame with their accumulated weight. Her muscles, strained from the intensity of the fight and now throbbing with the effort of staying curled up. Her lungs, struggling to breathe through the muddle of dirt collecting in her mouth. And how all of it goes straight to her gut, sending it roiling like she's been kicked there repeatedly with a steel boot.

It takes everything she has to heave out one large breath, spitting dirt and blood onto the ground by her face. She sucks in what air she can, tainted by the metallic tang of blood and something chalky that tastes like dust. Her ribs groan with a sharp piercing pain in her side, but she can breathe, she's still breathing. Her heart still pulses, she's spitting blood onto the rocks in front of her, and the pain of it all makes her dizzy but she's alive and Nyla's alive and that's got to count for something.

Her face screws up as she gingerly tries to move her limbs. The pain is a dull roar, deafening all her other senses even as she flexes her arms, straightens a knee, and thanks her stars that her body is only battered, not broken.

The same cannot be said for the glass vials at her belt however, as a sharp pain stabs into her side and she hisses, recoiling. Breathing very carefully, she struggles to move her hand from its protective shell around her head to the arsenal at her hip. Chunks of rock rain down from above at the slow movement, crunching into the dirt by her body. She holds her breath, fingers cautiously tracing cool glass, where smooth curved walls give way to serrated broken edges dripping with sticky fluid poison. With every motion a protest lodged deep in her bones, she very carefully unclips five broken vials from her belt, relieved beyond measure that none of them had vaporized. She counts three remaining and considers her options.

Maybe, she thinks with absurd optimism, she could turn this around after all. Those Dai Li bastards probably thought she was down for the count by now, but she's still in one piece. Battered and bruised, but still with a bit of fight left in her. Feeling her hopes rising marginally, she slits an eye open and pushes her face against a crack in the rocks.

But the small ballooning hope in her chest bursts unceremoniously at the sight of five Dai Li agents still standing. Worse, they appear no worse for the wear beyond a few welts here or there from her whip.

 _Damn it_ , she curses in her head, taking a deep, unsteady breath. She'd been right by assuming that the element of surprise was really the only major advantage up her sleeve. Once that had worn off, they'd started toying with her.

Her skin rankles at the thought of it.

"Come…on," she forces out breathlessly, her fingers twitching against Nyla's reins. "We…have to…get up…" She twines her hand into the reins and pulls at them more firmly.

Nyla shifts her weight, grumbling lowly in the back of her throat.

"I know…" Jun gasps, her other hand stroking the animal's mane gently. "It hurts, I know…you probably just want to curl up and never worry again, huh?"

Nyla grumbles again, this time in dissent.

"Yeah, I didn't think so either."

She inhales sharply, mustering her strength for one more, decisive motion. The rocks strewn about them weigh down on her with a force more pressing than gravity. Every part of her body aches.

"Right," Jun whispers, stroking Nyla's jaw comfortingly. "One more charge, yeah? Just one more, to show those bastards what we're made of. Can you do that for me?"

Nyla growls again, and Jun takes it as assent.

"Good girl," she acknowledges. "The best girl, you know that? Once this is done, you'll…you'll have all the treats you want, where we're going."

Her voice catches a bit at the end.  _Where we're going_. It doesn't bear thinking about. She's done a lot of unsavoury things in her time and there's no reason to think that anything pleasant might be awaiting her on the other side of all this.

 _Still. There might be nothing. At least it'll be quiet_.

She latches onto that thought.  _Quiet_. It's a nice thought. Quiet, still, calm. No more pain singing in her bones, no more tracking down people for sport, no more running errands for a bunch of delusional old men. Shame, though, she would've liked to say goodbye to Grandpa properly, even if it's his fault she's in this mess at all…

Nyla whines at her and Jun curls her fingers into her stringy mane. She squints at her through the faint light filtering in through the cracks. Her only friend left. How pathetic it'd be, except the shirshu was more loyal to her than any person she's ever met. Who better to have by her side at the end?

"Right," Jun mumbles, steeling herself for the final onslaught. "Let's give them hell."

She turns her attention back to the street. The five agents are spread out. Tactically, it makes all of them equally invulnerable. If one of them goes down, the others can easily regroup. But Jun isn't concerned about that. All of her thoughts are focused on causing as much damage as possible.

" _Now,_ " she hisses, and flexes her fingers at the reins.

Nyla bursts through the pile of rubble like an explosion, Jun holding her whip and the three remaining vials of venom at the ready. In the blink of an eye, the shirshu lands on one agent, slashes at another with her tongue, and Jun pulls at another with her whip and smashes a vial into his face.

A boulder crashes into her abdomen, ripping her from the saddle and knocking her off the shirshu's back. She lands on her back, her head smashing against the hard earth mercilessly.

This time, no sound comes from her mouth as she exhales a long, slow gasp of pain. Something salty and warm trickles from her mouth. Somewhere in the distance, Nyla thrashes and screams.

 _All this for want of a knife_ , Jun thinks thickly.  _And because Grand Lotus Iroh couldn't check his fucking mail._

She fights a laugh.

After all they've been through, it seems like an uncommonly unglamorous way to go out.

But as a Dai Li limps toward her, one of three left standing, she figures they did a respectable job holding their own and giving them a fight. And as the agent bends down and grabs her by the collar of her armour, pulling her to her feet slowly, she still thinks that it's a better way to go than  _starving_  alone in her apartment hiding like a coward.

"Do it," Jun barks at him defiantly, her voice thick through the blood that coats her tongue. "Do it quick."

Something stirs in the agent's soulless green eyes.

The sound of rushing air whistling shrilly fills Jun's ears in a sharply rising crescendo. His fingers twitch as he prepares to comply with her request. She squeezes her eyes shut and braces herself for the inevitable.

 _Thunk_.

She blinks in confusion as the agent before her goes down, crumpled in a heap on the ground.

_Am I hallucinating now? Did I hit my head too hard?_

Wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as her knees buckle beneath her, she studies the downed agent. His head juts out at a strange angle.

On the ground next to his neck is a polished metal boomerang.

She blinks again, seeing but not really comprehending as she turns her attention back to where the other two agents are occupied with Nyla.

Or at least, they were.

Nyla is roaring and lashing her tongue at one of the Dai Li, who screams as he falls to the ground and the shirshu's razor-sharp claws tear into his skin.

The other Dai Li is engaged in a fight with someone else, someone tall and dark and sturdily built who hadn't been there before. Someone dressed in black, who expertly wields a sword forged from a strange dark metal.

Jun struggles to get to her feet and stumbles forward, everything in her pounding and aching as the newcomer slashes through the Dai Li's defenses and runs him through with his blade, efficiently ending the fight as suddenly as it had started.

The silence that fills the air is deafening, rumbling like thunder in a winter storm. Jun totters on unsteady feet toward her shirshu, who abandons the bloodied remains of the unfortunate Dai Li agent and turns her head toward her mistress.

She collapses against Nyla, leaning against the stocky animal to support her weight as the newcomer cleans his blade with the dead agent's uniform. Her eyes rove over his nut-brown skin, bright blue eyes, and long dark hair swept up in a wolf-tail, before it dawns on her –

"Lee," Jun wheezes in recognition, clutching an arm to her side, where the boulder had knocked her off of her mount earlier. It is tender to the touch - she wouldn't be surprised if she found a few broken ribs. Her relief at his arrival quickly shifts to impatient ire. "About fucking time. Couldn't you have showed up any sooner? I was almost toast." She spits out a mouthful of red blood as though to emphasize her point.

"No kidding! You're lucky I was on my way to find you," the newcomer who calls himself Lee agrees nonchalantly, much to her chagrin. He turns his sword one way and then the other, inspecting it for any traces of blood. The metal is unusual, with a strange unearthly sheen. "I mean I know you missed me but seriously. Can a guy not skip out on town once in a while without everything going to pieces?" His eyes glimmer teasingly as he sheathes his sword into the scabbard strapped to his back.

Jun is winded and aching and far from amused. "Don't you start with me," she rasps hoarsely. She points a finger at him accusingly. "Where the hell were you? I've been looking everywhere for you –"

"I know, I know," Lee consoles even as his face splits into the widest of grins. "I missed my old bounty hunter buddy too."

"Fuck off," Jun snaps irritably, longing to slap that obnoxious grin off of his face. Her exasperation momentarily numbs the pain holding her in its grip. She wipes at her mouth and is relieved that the bleeding appears to be slowing.

"I'm just saying," Lee points out, shrugging innocently even as he drags the words out. "For someone who almost got pulverized by the Dai Li, you could be a little more grateful, you know?"

"Grateful?" Jun all but yells as he picks at the dirt under his fingernails, thoroughly unconcerned by the mayhem surrounding them. "This is all your fault! If you'd just been here when I needed you, I wouldn't have had to piss off the Dai Li!"

"Come on, Jun," Lee snorts in exasperation, clapping his hands to the shaved bottom half of his scalp. "What am I, your bodyguard or something? I have a life too, you know. I can't just show up every time you need your evening to go from  _Dai Li_  to  _hi, Lee._ "

Jun claps a hand over her ears, groaning loudly. " _Never_ do that again," she orders even as he smirks triumphantly at her. Her breath comes out in a huff and for a moment, she wishes that she could breathe fire. "And for your information, I've been looking for you for weeks. This was just the last straw."

His startlingly blue eyes narrow for a moment as her voice lowers, perhaps picking up for the first time the seriousness of the whole damn thing. "Well, here I am then," he quips, nodding his head at her as he crosses his arms across his chest. "What's up?"

"What's up?" Jun echoes incredulously, glaring at him. "What's  _up_  is that I had the unparalleled honour of being sent a knife by a Grand Lotus, of all people –"

"Ooh." Lee's face scrunches up wincingly. "Tough luck there."

"Yeah. You're telling me," Jun deadpans in agreement. She fumbles at her belt, searching for the little green knife, the root of all her troubles. "Here." She plucks it from where it hangs next to the last of her vials and dangles it in the air between them. "Have you seen this before?"

The knife glimmers in the dim light of the night, its brilliant green hilt grimy with dust and fingerprints by now. But the wry expression on Lee's face fades at the sight of it.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jun remarks dryly as he reaches out slowly and plucks the knife from her fingers. He holds it up to his face, turning it this way and that, examining every angle. In his large hands, the knife appears deceptively, innocuously small.

"Where did you find this?" Lee's voice isn't light and teasing anymore. The change is striking, as though someone's flipped a switch in him.

"I just told you," Jun maintains, fighting a shiver at how unusually grim Lee's becoming. "A Grand Lotus sent it to me in the mail."

Lee is still before her, staring long and hard at the knife. His posture has shifted, Jun notices, watching tension appear in his shoulders where it hadn't been there before.

"I tracked it back to the old palace," she continues slowly, eyes narrowing as she watches him carefully for a reaction. "The Dai Li denied all knowledge of it. They even tried to take it away from me. Then I followed the trail to a couple of dead ends. One was some nobleman, probably under house arrest by now." She takes a breath as he stills. "The other was where Jet and his boys were staying."

His head snaps up to meet her accusing gaze wildly.

"Know anything about that?" Jun demands, her voice dangerously soft.

Lee swallows. Jun would have thought him nervous, if a guy like him could even feel such a thing.

"You know what happened to Jet, right?" he asks in a low voice, all of his previous mirth replaced with unsettlingly grim seriousness.

"I don't know shit," Jun scoffs, wincing as pain radiates from the spot where the boulder had hit her. She wipes at her mouth again, leaning back against Nyla, the shirshu's bulky warmth reassuring in the chill of the night. "I'm not the one on the inside here. All I know is that I think – I think this is big."

She shivers.

"Well, speaking as someone with a finger on the pulse," Lee informs her, his face growing uneasy, "I can tell you that you thought right." Her heart sinks in her chest as he barrels on, still so unusually austere. "Jet got mixed up in something bad. All this?" He waves a hand, gesturing emphatically at all the chaotic destruction around them. "This is just the start."

"What do you mean?" Jun's mouth is dry with growing apprehension, gathering within her like a storm cloud.

"Didn't you even stop to think," Lee asks, plying her with a curious blue stare, "why only ten agents showed up, Jun? Did you just think you were lucky, that they didn't swarm you like they usually do?"

"I –" Jun stammers, a hand clutching at her chest now because now that he mentions it, he's right. Reinforcements should have popped out of the streets like weeds in an upper-ringer's prize garden.  _So where is everyone?_

"You're so lucky," Lee breathes, "that they couldn't spare more."

"Spare more from  _what_?" Jun questions, wrapping her arms around herself as though she's cold. But Lee's hand tightens around the green knife resolutely instead.

"Something big," he declares and Jun finds that she can't hold his gaze after all. She glances at the prone figures of the fallen Dai Li agents littering the ground as he continues steadily. "Something big is going to happen, Jun. Now that the emperor's dead, the Dai Li are –"

Something like a scream tears through the silence of the night and Lee's voice hitches suddenly. Jun nearly jumps out of her skin. But it's only the wind, the sharp chilly wind whistling loudly through the narrow street, rustling at the flimsy splintered bits of wood and stone littering the roadside.

"The emperor?" Jun latches onto the word in disbelief, eyes widening. "As in Emperor  _Azulon_?"

Lee's eyebrows shoot up to the level of his hairline. "Moon and ocean spirits, how do you not know that, Jun? Have you been hiding under a rock or something?"

"Something like that, yeah," Jun snaps in retort, though privately relieved that Lee's reverted back to his usual self. "Why, what happened?"

He rubs at the back of his neck aggravatingly. "He died in his sleep a week ago," he explains, as though he would to a child. "Prince Ozai held the funeral back in the capital before his older brother could arrive and now he's planning Day of the Dragons celebrations instead of mourning and…it's tense out there." His voice drops at the end to a quiet murmur.

Jun's head is spinning now.  _Well, that would explain why Iroh never got back to me_ , she thinks numbly.

"So what do we do?" she asks, her mouth dry. "About all this?"

There's a pause while her companion considers her question and all its implications. "What do we do?" he echoes, before straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. He meets her apprehensive eyes with his bright ones. "We stop it, of course!"

"Come again?" Jun challenges sceptically.

"We stop it," Lee repeats, regaining some of his confidence from earlier. He twirls the green knife expertly between his fingers and slips it into his belt. "We find the Crown Prince, and his army, and we warn him about what the Dai Li has planned next. Easy."

 _Easy_ , Jun scoffs mentally.  _Yeah right._

"Fine," she says out loud instead, rolling her eyes. "But if we're going to do this, you're steering Nyla. I can't do shit right now." She glares at him. "And I think you owe me an explanation. I want to know what the hell's going on."

"Fair enough," Lee remarks. "I'll tell you on the way. But first, I need to reload." He marches over to where the other Dai Li agent lies unconscious on the ground, and picks up the shining metal boomerang. Jun doesn't hide her snort at the sight of it.

"Isn't that a new sword?" she calls out to him with a hint of a sneer. "Why on earth are you still wasting your time throwing boomerangs around like a fucking child?"

Lee makes a face at her. "Hey," he bristles, clearly insulted. "No insulting the boomerang, alright?" He tosses it in the air and catches it with another hand, his mouth quirking into a crooked grin. "In fact, you should be grateful, all things considered."

"Should I, now?" Jun arches an eyebrow.

"Sure thing," he quips brightly. "Boomerangs always come back." He shoves the curving metal object into his belt. "And so do I."

* * *

 **author's notes.**...

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

but what about day of the dragons? brace yourselves, that's coming up next. holler if you want it!

reviews are squishing zuko in giant group hugs forever!


	22. silent alchemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara celebrates the Day of the Dragons for the first time.

**disclaimer.**  nothing new here, folks. atla belongs to bryke, i own nothing (except maybe the feels)

**author's notes.** finally kicking off 2018 with this unbelievably troublesome instalment, courtesy of 3AM hatewriting and the music of loreena mckennitt (because i'm secretly sixty years old inside and if  _santiago_  had lyrics, it would've opened this chapter in a heartbeat).

to all my readers, thank you for being so supportive and patient (especially given the pace/length/general heft of this fic). idk if i say it enough, but you guys are amazing and i'm honestly so grateful to have this little corner of the internet that i can share with you.

also, the biggest freaking shoutout to circasurvival, whose dedication and tireless beta-reading is one of the main reasons this thing is readable. seriously, you rock.

inserting a content warning here (specifically for past abuse/trauma brought up near the end), in case the subject matter is triggering for anyone reading.

i give you...

**southern lights**

**chapter xxii.**  silent alchemy

* * *

_time goes on enough to let me move on past_  
_but every little now and then_  
_it creeps on back to shape my smile_

"right back" / yuri kane

* * *

"It's really when the sun sets," Ty Lee advises, handing out small clay cups filled with smoking red liquid, "that Day of the Dragons really comes to life!"

Katara accepts one uncertainly, casting a glance at Suki and Toph. The four of them stand in the grassy lawn between the mess hall and the practice arena, where numerous bonfires light up the night and wooden benches line the periphery. A band occupies one of them – a real one, not the ramshackle group of amateurs that General Iroh had collected for music nights. They warm the cool night air with the stray warbles of instruments being tuned.

She inspects her drink in the pulsating firelight suspiciously. This, Katara is about to discover, is the highly-esteemed fireball that Suki had recommended for her nerves the other day.

"Cheers!" Ty Lee announces, holding up her cup in a salute to the three of them. "To a bright and prosperous new year!"

A resounding echo follows as everyone knocks back their drinks. Katara follows suit. The liquor is syrupy and scalding hot – the burn of the alcohol simultaneously numbed and enhanced the taste of honey and spice. She fights the splutter that rises up in her throat – her  _burning_ throat  _–_

"You doing okay, Sweetness?" Toph asks with a grin, dropping her empty cup. It smashes upon contact with the ground where after the revels of the night, it will be trodden back into the earth from which it was made. Yet another quirky Fire Nation tradition, Katara had learned, a strange little detail to celebrate the cycle of surrender and renewal that the Day of the Dragons was all about.

"I think so," she wheezes, pressing a hand to her chest. "I think I might breathe fire for a bit but apart from that…who's keeping score?"

"Nah. If you want to breathe fire, you go for the dragonbreath," Suki advises, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "I wouldn't recommend it though." She smirks at the look of revulsion and accompanying shudder that Ty Lee's giving off. "A couple of years ago, Ty Lee had a rather unpleasant experience."

"Some of the boys dared me to go shot for shot with them," Ty Lee explains, her complexion turning green. "I think I can still feel the headache."

"Better drink more," Suki nods wisely. "That'll make you forget about it at least!"

Ty Lee brightens. "Great idea!" She sashays back to the makeshift bar propped up against the back wall of the mess hall, one of several that have been pouring out seemingly endless quantities of liquor, water, and dandelion tea. Normally, the unrestrained excess would have earned Katara's disapproval, but the excitement of Day of the Dragons has been growing on her.

To her surprise, the whole day's been fun. The morning banquet was sumptuous, and she got to eat all the mangoes that she wanted. There weren't as many awful recycled speeches about Fire Empire glory either. Instead, they got to watch a popular Fire Nation play – a bittersweet folktale about a forbidden romance between two young dragons of the tribes of red and blue. The performance was somewhat amateurish, but Katara enjoyed it anyway. It strangely reminded her of better times: night that lasted forever, Gran-Gran's stories by the bonfires, falling asleep in her mother's lap while lights crackled overhead.

The nights in the heart of the Fire Empire aren't as long as the ones in the winter of her memory, but nearing the solstice the darkness still drags on. And when she looks up, she doesn't see the aurora or even the glow of the moon. Tonight the new moon hides and only a million shining stars peek through the inky black curtain of the night – as though the heavens have opened up and swallowed the sky.

The sight is different from the one she longs for, but the feeling it elicits is all the same. She still feels small and inconsequential. She still feels her breath hushing in her lungs in the enormous quiet of the stars.

"Earth to Sugar Queen!" Toph raps sharply at her elbow, a bemused expression on her face. "You're not a one-shot wonder, are you?"

Katara comes crashing back down to earth. "Actually, I could probably go for another." She rubs the goosebumps lining her arms. "One more and I won't even feel cold!"

"That's the spirit, Sugar Queen!" Toph declares jubilantly. "Let's go have fun."

* * *

An hour and a couple shots of fireball later, Katara musters the nerve to venture from the sidelines. By now, the band has taken up a jaunty tune and handfuls of people are dancing on the lawn, surrounding the giant bonfire roaring brightly in the centre of it all.

"Want to go dance?" she asks Toph.

Toph shakes her head, still comfortable on the periphery. "They're just warming up now," she parries, gesturing at the lively sort of dance, energetic in all the ways the dragon's waltz isn't. "Not really worth your while yet."

"You just want to stick around and wait for things to kick up a notch?" Katara teases, quirking an eyebrow at her companion. "That's efficient."

"Now you're getting the hang of it," Toph remarks. Her green dress appears almost black in the shadows, but it enhances the glitter in her eyes. "Don't waste your precious fireball buzz on something as pathetically impotent as the  _firefly_. If you're going to be caught dead dancing with some of these buffoons here, might as well be one with a bit of heat." Her mouth curls with something that could be distaste or resigned amusement, but it's hard to be sure in the haze.

"I admire that," Katara comments absently. "You don't waste any time, Toph. You just go straight for what you want."

"And what do you think I want?" Toph asks testily.

Katara shrugs. "If I had to guess? Probably a couple of rounds with a big, buff, hunky guy."

Toph lets out a surprised, hearty guffaw at that and Katara can't help but join in, her laughter an effortless cascade. She presses a hand to her mouth, trying to stop but her mirth continues to bubble out of her in short, sharp peals. It's infectiously addictive.

"Good one, Sweetness," Toph gasps at last. "You sure got me pegged."

"What are friends for?" The ease of everything is tantalizing. Speaking, teasing, laughing. Her hand moves from the cover of her mouth to her cheeks, the tip of her nose. Her face feels fuzzy, matching the sensation in her mind, and she isn't sure whether to blame the celebrations or the fireball percolating into her blood.

The musicians stop playing, the stray dancers ripple to a halt. There's a swell of laughter punctuated by cheers and a sharp cacophony of cracking clay before the band strikes up another tune, more rhythmic and flamboyant than the first. The stillness dissipates as people take up a gliding series of movements that Toph probably wouldn't disapprove of.

Restless, Katara's eyes seek out familiar faces in the crowd. In one corner, she sees Chan and his group of guys laughing over a bottle of bright blue liquor – the infamously maligned dragonbreath. They're all done up in billowing trousers and cropped sleeveless vests that display their lean, muscular physiques to advantage.

Next to the practice arena ringed with its crumbling pillars, she spots Aang with a crush of pretty Fire Nation girls dressed in red silk halters and flowing sarongs. He's talking to one, a girl with a gentle smile and long hair tied in a high ponytail.

"What's going on there?" she inquires, wiggling her eyebrows provocatively.

"Where?" Toph waves a hand over her face. "You're gonna have to be a lot more specific."

"Right. Sorry." Katara grins slyly. "By the pillar there. Aang looks awfully friendly with that girl."

"Oh, Googly Eyes?" Toph shrugs impassively. "Looks like she's the one being awfully friendly if you ask me. And you know Twinkletoes. Way too clueless for his own good."

"Still, though." Katara casts about for something to say. "It's nice to see him making friends who aren't us. Right?"

Toph just grunts in response.

Strangely impatient now, Katara resumes her scan of her surroundings. Leaning against one of the makeshift bars is Suki, positively glowing in her yellow dress and conversing with a brunette who might be called Jin. Ty Lee has coyly made her way over to Chan's circle of friends and is flirting with the tall good-looking one – Ryu, the son of the fishmonger Toph had teased her about.

Her eyes flicker over everything, seeking him out in a motion so mindlessly casual that she doesn't even realize it at first. Then, more deliberately when she doesn't see him, squinting through the lengthening shadows for a glimpse.

"He's not here yet," Toph says casually.

Katara's head snaps around, staring at the earthbender wildly. "What?" she gasps, wondering if Toph can read minds too.

Toph's face is guileless as she picks at the undersides of her nails. "What?" she echoes, amusement glimmering in her clouded eyes. "I didn't say anything."

Katara is not amused. "Right," she gripes sourly. Outwardly, she feigns complete indifference, mimicking Toph's nonchalant stance.

Not that it matters. As far as Katara's concerned, she's not lying. It's not like she's looking for him, exactly, it's just that she –

_I what?_

She flounders at all the possibilities before cautiously settling on excitement. In all the recent mayhem – the death of the emperor, Zuko's resultant withdrawal into brooding reclusion – his absence is oddly conspicuous, a fraying hole in the fabric of her now-familiar daily life. So, she reasons, of course she's excited to see him again. It makes sense that her nerves are positively standing on end with anticipation.

_Right…?_

"I need another drink," Toph announces, cracking her knuckles loudly as Katara's brow furrows into the smallest of frowns. "Want more fireball?"

"Sure," Katara agrees, more than happy to drop the discomfiting thought altogether. "Why not?"

The two of them amble over to the bar where Suki's still embroiled in an earnest conversation with her brunette friend.

"Having fun?" a teasing male voice asks into Katara's ear.

Her back stiffens at the flash of red silk in the corner of her eye, but the swelling balloon in her chest deflates when she realizes it's only Chan and his friends. She makes herself smile anyway; tries not to let the fleeting disappointment show.

"Of course," she replies brightly, nodding at their surroundings. "For my first Day of the Dragons, this has been a pretty impressive showing."

Chan laughs easily. "You haven't seen anything yet," he boasts, turning to the circle of friends at his shoulder. "This is pretty low-key, even with the Emperor dying and all. Right guys?"

Ruon-Jian grunts while Ryu beams, his arm around Ty Lee's shoulders. Standing slightly apart from the group are Hide and his creepy friend. Hide intently watches the crowd where Aang and Googly Eyes are still dancing.

"I'm surprised you guys can even celebrate right now," Katara remarks. The memory of Zuko's ashen face in the stifling dark of his room springs to her, unbidden. Startled and somewhat guilty, she pushes it away. "You know, all things considered."

"Eh," Chan snorts, shrugging noncommittally. "That's the Fire Nation for you." He chortles darkly. "We don't let little things like death get in the way of life and fun."

She catches the part of her brain that begins to wonder where Zuko is if that's true, and clamps the thought down firmly. "That's remarkably practical of you," she makes herself say patiently.

"I wouldn't say that," Chan jokes in response. "Wait until the dragon's waltz starts. You haven't seen impractical until you've tried a few rounds of that."

"I can imagine. Ty Lee gave me a demonstration," Katara answers, face reddening with the memory of her lesson. But even with the alcohol loosening her tongue, being around Chan and his friends still feels awkward. Unlike the easy conversations with Aang or the tense compulsion that draws her to Zuko. While the latter felt uncomfortable, it also filled her with a giddiness rivalling every fireball shot she's taken so far and  _where is he, anyway?_

Chan makes another joke. Everyone laughs, but she doesn't hear it. To her it seems like everything has suddenly slowed down, as though time itself has stilled.

It hasn't, of course. Beyond her, the band still plays its jaunty music and everyone's dancing and laughing, and the chilly breeze rustles against the twisting canopy of bare branches grasping like fingers at the stars.

She swallows, suddenly acutely aware of this new normal: blood flooding warmth, limbs stretched taut like there's danger nearby. Every inch of her skin alive as though she's just redirected his lightning.

And there's no reason to, not anymore. It's been so long since the sight of him has filled her with blinding rage and yet her body still trembles at the very thought of him, as though it can't let go of the memory of her hate and her fear.

Or as though it's replaced it with something far more treacherous.

Her heart stutters, as though it's tripped over itself and picked right back up without missing a beat.

It's not like she –  _I_   _can't be_  –

"Earth to Katara!" Chan calls, tapping her on the side of the head. "Anyone home in there?"

Time loudly catches up with her sluggish senses. She carefully forces her face into a brightly placid smile, hoping that nobody else can hear her mind crashing into a veritable brick wall of a notion.

"Don't mind Sugar Queen," Toph assures him, shooting a knowing smirk at her. "She's a lightweight."

That at least galvanizes Katara into action. "I am  _not_ ," she insists, crossing her arms across her chest defiantly. "I just got distracted. Not a hanging offense, is it?"

"Whoa, defensive much?" Toph mumbles, but her smirk widens infuriatingly.

"Definitely not a hanging offense," Chan concurs somewhat nervously. "Uh, I was just going to ask –"

"Hey, guys!"

Relief floods through her at the sound of Aang's comfortingly familiar voice. She grins in delight as he joins them, his face flushed and shiny. His friend – the one Toph dubbed Googly Eyes – hovers by his shoulder and her face crinkles into a warm smile.

"Hi, Aang!" Katara waves him over. "Having a good night?"

"You bet!" Aang replies, his eyes sparkling cheerfully. He turns to the girl at his shoulder. "This is On Ji. On Ji, have you met Katara? Or Toph?"

Googly Eyes -  _On Ji,_ Katara mentally corrects – shakes her head.

"Pleased to meet you," Katara says, offering her hand.

"Yeah," Toph drawls. Her arms remain crossed across her chest. "It's a real pleasure."

"It's really nice to meet you, too," gushes On Ji, her voice warm and sweet. "Really. I've always been too nervous to introduce myself to you before, but –"

"Nervous?" Katara latches onto the word curiously. "Why?"

"I don't know," On Ji confesses with a small laugh. "You guys are so powerful, and I – I can't even bend! It's a little intimidating."

She's interrupted roundly by Hide, who marches in and asks her to dance with him. While Hide, On Ji, and Aang fight it out, Katara glances at Toph in amusement.

"Toph, you'd better hurry up and find a partner," she jokes as Aang and On Ji amble away, leaving behind a silently fuming Hide. "Or else all the good ones will be gone."

"Funny, I was going to suggest the same to you," Toph counters sardonically. "Got anyone in mind?"

Katara is about to issue a snappy retort when the traitorous voice of her mind snidely reminds her that, come to think of it, yes in fact there was. She chokes instead, completely unprepared for the images barraging her senses. Zuko during practice. Pulling off his shirt in the summer heat. The fleeting almost-smile on his face when she told him she wanted to be friends. Only that last memory is now littered with other subtle, important things. Like the small rivulets of water running down the defined ridges of his chest. The heat of his skin beneath her palm. The smell of his soap. All the small details she's unconsciously carried, blissfully unaware as she's blundered through this whole thing with her eyes screwed shut.

"Yeah. Thought so," Toph sniffs as Katara's silence stretches.

"What?" Katara stammers, dismayed at finally making sense of the strange reflexes gripping her, and how that clarity brings yet more confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Just go with it," Toph counsels sagely, patting her on the arm unusually gently. "And whatever happens, don't ruin it by thinking, okay?"

"Toph, what are you talking about?" Katara demands in a low voice, the blood starting to drain from her face.  _Does Toph know? How can she know?_ I _barely knew._

_Okay_ , Sokka would say if he was here and he knew what she was thinking. She imagines him slapping his forehead and groaning,  _I know you're not the most strategic between the two of us but that was one heck of a weakness to miss._

And then there's the squeeze of unease in her chest that accompanies every thought of Sokka, intensifying to a churn because if he ever found out about –  _this_  – she doesn't even know how he'd react and that doesn't bear thinking about anyway…

"Like I was saying," Chan resumes, his grin slightly sheepish, "do you want to dance, Katara?" Panic flits through her, lanced with equal parts surprise and dismay. She tries to hide it, but from the way Chan shrugs in response, she gathers that she's failed. "I just thought I'd ask," he continues somewhat reproachfully, "I didn't mean any harm…"

Tamping down an anxious slurry of new concerns –  _he's still not here, is he even going to show up, what if he doesn't –_  she makes herself smile and hold out her hand for Chan to take. "I'd love to dance, Chan. Lead the way."

* * *

The band launches into a waltz – unmistakable in its punctuated, distinctive rhythm but somehow sultrier than the version from Conquest Day. The starting tempo is slow, the music restrained, as though allowing its participants to find their feet.

It helps that Chan isn't nearly as good a dancer as Ty Lee – nor does he appear to take this half as seriously as she had. When he fumbles a twist and accidentally treads on her foot as the music speeds up, she fights a giggle at the wince that crosses his face.

"Sorry," he apologizes quickly, inclining his head penitently. "I'm not that good."

"That's a relief," Katara replies, squirming as his grip around her waist tightens. He tries a quick lift and it takes her by surprise, but she lands with more confidence than she would have expected.

"You're a good dancer," Chan observes, leading her through a couple of turns before pulling her in again.

Katara grins, feeling some of the awkwardness sliding away. "Well, I did have a really good teacher," she points out, looking some distance away where Ty Lee and Ryu whirl up a storm. "I'm surprised Ryu can keep up with her."

"He can't," Chan whispers conspiratorially. "Fake it till you make it, right?"

She laughs in agreement and they fall into a companionable silence. Gradually, they achieve a sort of rhythm that's a little out of sync with the music, but one that works for them. The furrow of concentration disappears from her forehead and the wooden planks of her limbs smooth into flowing water.

And from here, she can almost pretend –  _it isn't him, but close enough_. From this angle, the red silk vest flatters the planes of a muscular chest – a little broader than Zuko's, the ridges a little less sharp. His hair is a shade too light, jaw a bit too square, and when he meets her eyes, they're more honey than gold.

She isn't sure what's written across her face, but when he inches his back incredulously in response, it's enough to shock her back to reality like a splash of icewater across the face.

_Spirits, it's Chan!_  She berates herself, distinctly unsettled by her mismatched urges, fortified by all the fireball from earlier.  _What the hell are you doing? Get a grip._

The music crashes to a halt and around them, everyone mills about in search of another drink. The drum pounds out another slow countdown.

"Thanks for the dance, Chan," she mumbles, somewhat embarrassed. "That wasn't half bad."

"You flatter me," Chan laughs, and his discomfort vanishes without a trace. "I only stepped on your foot, what, three times? Must be a new record for me!"

"Two, actually," Katara corrects, spirits rising marginally. "But you did drop me a couple of times."

"Ah. That'd do it." They linger awkwardly a moment longer, before Chan straightens up. "Well, I need a drink. Care for some dragonbreath?"

Katara wrinkles her nose in distaste. "No," she refuses, shaking her head vehemently. "I've heard some pretty awful rumours. I'll stick to fireball."

"Probably a smart idea," Chan laughs as he steers her to the nearest bar and grabs two clay cups, one filled with smoking red liquid, the other blue. "Cheers."

She drains it and smashes the cup onto the ground. Chan scans the surroundings for his friends. "Want to dance again?" she asks him, unsure of what to do next.

Chan coughs into his fist. "Uh," he splutters, "as a general rule, you try…not to dance with the same person too many times for the dragon's waltz. It gives off the wrong connotation, you know?" He spots Ryu and waves him over.

"Connotation?" Katara raises an eyebrow, glancing back to the dance floor and noticing that it isn't just Ryu and Ty Lee that have separated. Many of the couples had indeed switched partners.

"Yeah," Chan shuffles awkwardly. "You know. Like you might want  _more_  than just a dance?"

Katara's eyes grow large. "Oh," she chokes out, face flaming hot. "I see." Now she's the one fighting for composure. "Uh, thanks for pointing that one out. I did  _not_  know that." She tries not to imagine the world of embarrassment she might have landed in if he hadn't explained that one to her.

Ryu joins them, sweaty and exhausted after his dance with Ty Lee. Katara smiles, feeling more than slightly out of place as the two boys strike up a conversation over shots of dragonbeath. Chewing at the inside of her cheek, she scans the lawn once more.  _Still no sign of him_ , she notices, though the alcohol in her system numbs the sting.

Besides, he'd just been through a loss, hadn't he? Even if he showed up, he probably wouldn't even want to dance. And given the dangerous new direction in which her thoughts have been scattering, if he did, it would probably end up with her making a bigger fool of herself and him wanting nothing to do with her. All things considered, this was probably for the best.

The music pauses and Ryu asks her to dance next. She accepts, pretending that the disappointment tying itself into knots in her chest isn't there.

* * *

They scramble back onto the lawn, finding a spot a fair distance from the central bonfire. The music starts up almost instantly, making them lag a beat behind.

"Just a heads-up," Katara blurts out as they finally fall in time with the slow, building tempo. "I'm not as good a dancer as Ty Lee."

Ryu's dimpled grin has a lot more warmth than she would have guessed. "That's fine," he assures her, his voice more relieved than anything. "Neither am I."

Now she's the one feeling relieved as they speed up in time to the music. Instead of locking up at her joints, she relaxes into her partner's touch. Her footwork is improving, and when Ryu trails a hand down the side of her arm, she enjoys it. She doesn't fear the feeling of soaring weightlessness as he lifts her, the adrenaline swooping through her veins as she's lowered back to the ground.

"This is really fun," she marvels. She spots Aang and Toph some distance away, resolutely trying their best to keep up. Toph's movements are graceless, while Aang is uncertain of how to compensate and they make a rather ungainly pair. Still, Katara can't help but smirk at the sight of it.

"You sound surprised," Ryu observes, leading her through a series of spins and dips with a lot more finesse than Chan had.

"I didn't expect it to be," she answers honestly, feeling more like Ty Lee as she flies through the motions, her limbs flowing like the rivers held in thrall to them.

Ryu grins again, leading her into a step matching the pace of the music. "I know you said you weren't as good as Ty Lee, but I'm starting to have second thoughts."

"Don't tell her you said that," Katara warns him, half-joking. "It might make it harder for you to get her back for another round later on."

Ryu's beatific grin suddenly resembles a grimace. "Yeah…" he admits, glancing over Katara's shoulder. She cranes her neck to follow his line of sight. Amidst the frantic hordes of struggling couples is Ty Lee, silhouetted and barely visible against the central bonfire, talking enthusiastically with –

She doesn't even notice that Ryu has stopped moving, that her feet have stilled and her heart has leapt into her throat. The glow of the bonfire is painfully bright in her eyes, but even through it she can make him out, faintly – Zuko, a pace away from Ty Lee, arms crossed across his chest, the sharp lines of his profile thrown into stark relief by the glaring firelight…

_He's here._  She doesn't question why nothing seems to matter after that, why she can't focus on whatever Ryu's muttering into her ear, why she's suddenly gripped by paralysis and pure adrenaline all at the same time and the only thing she can really hear is her pulse loud in her ears.

She sees Ty Lee lean in, say something into his ear, all mesmerizing smiles and confidence palpable half a yard away. Sees him shrug, take her hand, watches them start to dance, their motions blurring into shadow against the bright flames.

"They're really something, huh?"

She catches the last bit of Ryu's speech, and out of the corner of her eye she can see he's utterly transfixed by the pair of them by the fire. "Yeah," she agrees, turning her gaze back to them. "I suppose they are."

The dance that Zuko and Ty Lee are effortlessly waltzing through has some resemblance to the one Katara's been attempting all night, except it's got less footwork and much more of the flourishing acrobatics that Ty Lee makes look so easy. Katara is reminded of Ty Lee's first lesson about leading and following, and how the girl in pink seems to trail on Zuko like silk fluttering on his breeze, tangling and untangling through his arms, flipping into the air, slithering around the sculpted line of his torso, his legs –

The chill evening air seems to feel warm all of a sudden. By now, most heads are turning to face the two of them, the only ones who can keep up with the music without tripping and making a fool of themselves.

_They make it look so easy_. The bright thing inside her wilts. In its place rises something else. Something that nibbles at the coiling thing in the pit of her stomach, tasting vaguely of bile and missed opportunity. Now that the bright bonfire doesn't make her eyes water, she sees him more clearly. His face is impassive to Ty Lee's closeness as he leads her through the motions as though it's just breathing, completely unfazed by the sheer intimacy of it. It feels patently unfair to her.

She turns away, deciding that she's seen enough, just before the music swells with its last note and promptly fades to silence.

* * *

Everything is too loud.

The music, the chatter, the scattered crashes of clay cups smashing into the ground, all of it. It pounds at the hollow insides of Zuko's skull, convinces him it's fit to burst.

He hunches at a bar near the dilapidated columns ringing the gravelly practice arena, where nobody really wants to dance for fear of twisting an ankle. His other hand cups his forehead in obvious disaffection. Perhaps to make up for being dragged into a dance with Ty Lee. She's the only reminder of his old life he has left; he didn't have the heart to refuse her. But he didn't want to become the center of some sort of spectacle either.

He grabs at a clay cup, the first of five lined up in a row by his fingers, filled to the brim with smoking blue liquor. He flings its contents into his mouth, savouring the burn of liquid fire as it blazes a path straight into his chest.

Zuko doesn't even know why he's here, except to half-heartedly show face. Back in the capital, he's heard that celebrations are fully underway, recent funeral be damned. The blatant disregard of propriety strikes him as profoundly odd but he's not exactly in a position to voice his discontent.

He drowns it out with another shot. Exhaling a breath that appears tinged slightly blue, he tries to push another image away – Katara dancing with Ryu of all people, face aglow with a look he's never seen before. The sight of it twists at his insides in a way the death of his grandfather hadn't managed.

_Knock it off_ , he tells himself grimly, reaching for the third cup with determined fingers.  _She can dance with whomever the hell she wants, what's it to you?_

Except it's a lie and he knows it. He doesn't have any claim to her –  _except friends, at least we're friends, at least there's that –_  but he can't deny that a small, irrational part of him hoped to be the one to introduce her to Day of the Dragons and the dragon's waltz. And how loudly it protests now that he's been beaten to it.

Ever since Katara healed Chan, she's been getting increasingly popular. If he's honest with himself, it feels more and more like she's slipping slowly from his reach. Which is a truly insane thought if he stops to think about it, because the two things are completely unrelated. After all, she still makes a point to stop by his room every day. And no matter how many of Chan's inane friends vie for her attention, she never gives any of them that same soft smile she reserves for him. And he bets she's probably never hugged any of them the way she hugged him….

But he's been left behind so many times, he doesn't think he can bear it happening again. Not by her. He'd rather skulk in the shadows and drink his demons away than have to risk that possibility becoming reality.

He's reaching for the fourth cup when a voice interrupts him.

"Drinking alone, are we?"

Toph sidles up to him from out of nowhere, her arms crossed and face oddly smug. "I'll have a fireball, thanks."

He grunts by way of acknowledgment, before ordering a round for Toph and handing her another cup. "To a bright new year," he says without emphasis.

Toph takes her shot and makes a face. "Reign in your enthusiasm there, Sparky. You might hurt yourself otherwise."

"Too late," he mutters. The fourth shot passes through him easily, as though it's one of Uncle's blended teas.

Toph raises her eyebrows quizzically. "What's grinding you down, Sparky?"

"Nothing," he grates. "I'm fine."

"If you say so," Toph retorts, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "But try putting a bit more effort into it. Then, you might almost be believable."

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking that much?" he counters in irritation, glaring at her through his thick dark hair.

She smirks. "Probably. But who's going to say no to the resident earthbending master?" As though to emphasize her point, she crushes the empty cup with her bare hands, bends the clay shards into a smooth perfect ball, and sends it whizzing at his head.

He ducks out of the way just in time. "Hey!" he protests. "What was that for?"

"That," Toph complains, "is what you get for being a giant bore on the best evening of the year!"

"You could have taken my eye out," Zuko grumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Yeah well, since you're about twenty percent dragonbreath right now, you'd probably deserve it," Toph snaps. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"I said I was fine." He reaches for the last cup, fingers starting to tremble.

"You're about as fine as you are a good liar," Toph quips, rolling her sightless eyes. "Man, Sparky, you're harshing my buzz, you know that?"

"My apologies," he returns stiffly. Toph's only trying to help in her own brusque way, and he's being incredibly rude.

"Yeah, you bet you're sorry," Toph asserts, tilting her head thoughtfully to one side, eyes scrunched shut in concentration. A sly smile twists her face. "Good thing too, because I'm about to make your night."

He turns to face her at that. "What do you mean?"

She opens her eyes and they seem to see right through him. Her smirk widens as she cups a hand to her mouth and yells, "Oi, Sugar Queen! Over here!"

He almost drops his cup, head snapping around and thankfully missing the gratingly triumphant expression on Toph's face, because –

Katara wanders over from where she'd been hovering by the central bonfire. Here, where the leaping flames cast long shadows, everything is dim. But the sight of her appearing is a cool swill of water to his parched senses and he drinks her in.

"Oh, there you are," Katara says to Toph by way of greeting. "I was looking for you." Then she smiles at him and it heats him through in a way that four shots of dragonbreath can't. "You too, Zuko," she continues, sounding a little less confident.

The dark cloud surrounding him vanishes, dispelled by those three words.  _She was looking for me. Why?_

There's something slightly different about her tonight. Something about her is a little undone, from the wild cascade of her hair to the restless smoulder of her gaze…

"Well, this was fun," Toph says brightly, taking a step backward. "Nice catching up with you two, but if you'll excuse me…"

"Where are you going?" Katara demands, wrenching her eyes from where they tangle with his.

Toph shrugs. "Back on the prowl. I need to scope out some better guys."

"Oh yeah." Katara smirks. "I was surprised to see you with Aang, of all people."

"Why would that be a surprise?" Toph returns, jamming her hands on her hips.

"Oh, I don't know," Katara says airily, quirking her eyebrows. "It was awfully cute."

"You're playing a dangerous game here, Sweetness," Toph warns, marching right up to Katara and jabbing a finger at her sternum. "Don't you get me started about  _cute_."

The change that comes over Katara is so sudden, Zuko almost doesn't see the way her smirk shifts into dumbfounded panic. A part of him is curious as to Toph's meaning and why the colour recedes from Katara's face in response.

"Right. Have a good night, Sweetness," Toph announces, and the brief grim spell breaks. She saunters past the pretty waterbender, back in the direction of the bonfire. "And remember, I won't judge if you won't."

And with those parting words, the earthbender disappears.

Zuko watches the colour slowly return to Katara's ashen face in mounting confusion. "What was that all about?" he can't help but ask.

Katara looks distinctly out of her element as she shakes her head a little too quickly. "Oh, nothing," she tries to assure him, her voice falsely bright. "It's just…girl talk." And then she steps right up to him, face softening. "How are you doing? Really?"

"I'm okay," Zuko replies automatically, except this time he means it. "Really." After all, she's still here with him, happy to see him, and that's almost enough.

"I didn't think you were going to show up," Katara confesses, smiling sheepishly. The flush dotting her cheeks darkens.

"Neither did I," Zuko admits, trying not to close the distance between them like every part of him wants to. There's still a chance he might be reading this wrong.

"What changed your mind?" Katara asks curiously, leaning closer until she fills his vision.

_You._ He swallows very slowly for fear of choking on his tongue. He can't tell her that. He can't admit to the need that drove him from the confines of his room, the hollowness in his gut at the sight of her with Ryu, the hope coursing through him now. He wants to. But he can't tell her any of that.

"I just had to get out of my room," he mumbles, not a complete lie but even to his ears it sounds unconvincing.

If she doesn't believe him, she doesn't show it. "Yeah," she agrees. "And you guys sure know how to throw a party."

"Are you having fun?" he inquires carefully, wondering if he's even allowed to ask.

But she smiles at him instead, and the sight of it snaps at one of his heartstrings like a musician plucking at a harp. "I am," she concedes, shaking her head as though in disbelief. "Who knew this could be fun?"

His eyes are distracted by the flutter of her hair, and the one strand that escapes its beaded confines to lazily brush against the slope of her brow, the shadowed hollows where the contours of her face rise and dip. "I'm glad," he says carefully.

"I mean, it's been so long since I've had a chance to celebrate the winter solstice," she barrels on, seemingly unable to hold back. Her fingers brush at the hair grazing her face but it stubbornly falls back into place. "I know, it's your new year and all, but for us…" she trails off to look up at the multitude of stars hanging in the night sky, their pure silver light hazy through bonfire smoke.

Her silence draws out heavy in the air, weighing down on him until he can't stand it. He steps closer. "Tell me," he urges.

She blinks out of whatever reverie had carried her away. "For us," she repeats, surprise shifting to the painful joy that grips her every time she talks about home, "the winter solstice was one of our biggest celebrations, a night when the spirit world joined ours. It was the longest night of our year. We'd have fires, tell stories, leave gifts for the spirits to take back with them…that sort of thing."

"It's the longest night of our year, too," Zuko can't help but point out.

She smiles at him again, and there's a fondness there he hasn't quite seen before. "Yes, but the sun still comes up in the morning for you. Our nights lasted weeks."

"What?" Zuko has never heard of such a thing before. "Really?"

She nods wistfully. "We called it polar night."

"But – but how?" Zuko's inner fire quails at the idea of being away from the sun for so long, yet Katara and her people did precisely that. It's never struck him before; that her home was so different from his it might as well have been another world. A pang of shame hits him, because he's never troubled to think about it until now. "Not  _how_ , but – how could you live like that?" The words hang awkwardly in the air around him. Before her gaze sharpens, he already hears their unintended slight. Panicking, he tries to correct, "I mean – I'd go crazy in all that darkness."

"You get used to it," Katara replies and to his utter relief she doesn't appear offended. "Anyway, it wouldn't be completely dark. During the day, it would glow like twilight and then at night we'd have the lights." She looks him right in the eyes and his panic vanishes. "Have you ever seen them?"

"Seen what?" His voice comes out strained, taken aback by the hush in hers.

"The southern lights," Katara says, as though stating the obvious. "You don't really see them far from the South Pole, but…spirits, Zuko, they're the most beautiful thing in the world."  _Second most_ , he thinks but he can't bring himself to correct her. Not when she says his name like that, breathy in its longing. "I couldn't describe them if I tried. How everything would be so cold and quiet, and all the snow glowed in the dark, and we'd huddle by the fires to stay warm, watching these…giant curtains of coloured light in the sky." She laughs ruefully, rubbing at the side of her neck. "Sorry, I got carried away. I must be boring you."

"You're not," Zuko insists softly. "I–"  _could listen to you talk about your home forever. "_ …like hearing you talk."

She lets out another muffled laugh at that and the sound washes over him. "Truth is, I miss it," she confesses, wavering in slight anguish. "The cold, the dark, the snow... I miss it all so much."

The cup forgotten in his fingers tumbles to the ground with a wet slosh, its blue contents spilling into the dry cracked earth. His hand finds her shoulder, an uncertain gesture of comfort. "I'm sorry," he says awkwardly, cringing inside because it isn't enough and they both know it.

But her hand comes up to close over his anyway. He nearly jumps out of his skin at how cool her touch is, as though it's swallowed up the chill of the night, but somehow it still warms him. "I hope you get to see them one day," she sighs.

"I hope you do, too." He heaves out heavily.

"Thank you." Her hand gives his a quick squeeze. "Thank you for listening."

He swallows very slowly as she pulls back, steps away but still within reach.  _It's the least I could do for you_. "It's nothing."

"Maybe to you." Abruptly, her smile flits back onto her face as if nothing had happened. "Anyway, your new year's celebrations aren't half bad either." He stares at her as she rattles on, gripped with some strange, newfound determination. "I mean, they're a little indulgent, but all things considered –"

"Indulgent?" he asks, mystified. "What do you mean?"

The dark flush crawls across her face. "Nothing," she stammers, fidgeting. "Just – it's a little strange to me. You guys are so straightforward about everything, and yet you have this holiday wrapped up in these weirdly coded rituals."

He frowns at her in mounting confusion as she quickly downs the cup of fireball in her hand, perhaps searching for courage in its smoking red depths. "Like?" The cup smashes into the ground, as though punctuating his question.

"Like…like how you're not supposed to do the dragon's waltz with the same person too many times? Or all the dandelion tea flowing around, in case you do? It's like…social pai sho, almost!" She chuckles, blissfully unaware of the way his body begins to stir at the insinuation in her words and that she's talking to him about it, of all people. "We'd never waste our time like that back home, it was way too cold! If you wanted something from someone, you just asked for it." Her face falls and the flush creeps down her neck. "I think. But I was awfully young, so maybe it all just went over my head."

Agni help him, this was not exactly what he'd had in mind when he'd hoped to introduce her to Day of the Dragons. "I've never thought about it that way," he says stiffly, carefully sidestepping that the whole point of it all was exactly that: to  _not_  think.

"Don't get me wrong," Katara muses thoughtfully. "It must be liberating for you, considering how much of your bending is based on control and restraint. And then to have one night to just let go of everything? No wonder you all get so excited about it." Through the wayward strand of hair falling into her face, he glimpses a small smile curling along her mouth. "Next to all that subtlety and anticipation, what we do probably sounds so dull to you in comparison."

He chokes back a slight groan at that, because he doesn't think he's ever held himself so tightly in check as he does right now. "Not dull," he says hoarsely, voice shaking with the effort to keep the heat from it. "Just different."

"Different," she echoes, giving him a funny look. "Yeah…" She trails off, lost in one thought or another. He doesn't dare speak, focusing instead upon the deepening furrow on her brow. "But maybe not that different after all? After all, you guys have your weird rituals the same way I had my Gran-Gran's stories. To leave your daily life behind or something?"

She offers him a smile that doesn't quite mask the unsettled look lingering on her face. Intrigue winds tight in the pit of his stomach, but she barrels on before he can speak. "And also," she blurts, now almost as jumpy as he is, "your – your drinks are pretty great and your dances are fun too."

The discomfiting moment passes almost as quickly as her backpedal. "You picked them up quickly," Zuko notes, both relieved and disappointed with the abrupt shift.

"You saw that?" she demands. Her hand flies to her mouth in apparent mortification.

"Oh yes." But this time the memory of her and Ryu dancing doesn't carry the same flood of despondency. "You were good."

"You're one to talk," she snorts, looking at him like she's seeing him properly for the first time. "I never knew you could dance."

Now it's his turn to be mortified.  _I knew I'd regret that dance with Ty Lee._  "I don't exactly…advertise it."

"Why not?" Katara asks incredulously. "You were really good. I – everyone stopped to watch you."

Smoke trickles from his mouth. "It was part of my royal upbringing. It reminds me of home."

Silence drags out before her shoulders slump. "I see." Her voice is sympathetic and it grates on his nerves. He's had her sympathy all week, but he wants something different from her. "I guess that's the last thing you want to think about."

"Yeah," he agrees, not realizing how forlorn he sounds. He glances at the cup leaching dark blue dragonbreath into the dirt by his foot, kicks at it aimlessly.

"Well, uh…" Now that the emotionally charged subject of  _home_  has been shelved, she's uncomfortable again. "Since you don't want to – I mean – would you rather be alone now? I can leave, if you'd prefer –"

"No." For the first time that night, in days even, Zuko feels certain about something. "Stay." A pause that's too brief before he quickly adds, "Please."

"Okay." The word is steeped in tentativeness as it trails off. In the dark, she sounds almost shy.

_All this and she's still here with me_. His heart scampers at the thought.  _Almost like she wants to be._

The flitting of distant firelight casts a wavering glow, touching her skin with fingers of gold. The lustrous curtain of her hair shines, inviting, softly lit with hues of copper and red. Instinctively, he reaches out to brush that one annoying strand out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear.

He doesn't see the astonishment spreading across her face. But other things become clearer, even through the dark and the dreamlike haze of smoke and liquor and his own confused senses. The thrum of her body, the warm tickle of air rushing from her lips to caress his wrist, the tilt of her head as it leans into his touch.

He stills, not daring to move. Everything feels ephemeral, fragile, glittering as though spun of brittle coloured glass. One word and it would all shatter.

But he's lived it countless times in his fevered dreams, so much so that everything seems familiar. It lends strength to his voice, his resolve swelling even as duelling instincts clash inside him – urging him to action, convincing him of inevitable failure.

"Unless you want to dance?" he blurts out, his voice a strangled thread of sound barely scraping past the monolith of his throat.

He's gone through it in his head so many times that everything feels distinctly surreal when her head finally jerks into an unmistakeable nod. "Yes," she whispers, and it drowns out the sound of everything but the blood in his ears, shaking with the rhythm of his frantic heart. "I would."

* * *

She thinks she might be coming down with something.

It's the safest explanation for why everything's suddenly unbearably warm where just minutes earlier the night had seemed chill. But as she lets Zuko lead her by the hand to a spot much closer to the bonfire than she would have liked, the air against her skin feels dry with heat, like she's back in the sauna she and Toph share.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Ty Lee pairing off with a beaming Ryu again. Her mouth curls involuntarily as she remembers what Chan said about dancing with the same person too many times. Further away, Aang's partnered with Suki, Toph's grabbed a stocky earthbender who towers a foot above her –

And then everything in her mind scatters like chaff on the wind as Zuko pulls her flush against him, arm fitting around her waist like it had been made for it. She swallows the gasp forming in her throat at the thousand pinpricks of sensations dancing like sparks along the surface of her skin everywhere he touches. Instead, she straightens her back and winds her arm along the strong line of his shoulders.

His face softens as she cranes her head up to look up at him directly. He's a head taller, but only now does she really appreciate the difference in their heights and the way he seems to tower over her. She wonders if it's just because of how close they are. If Ty Lee was watching, she would wholeheartedly approve of just how closed their closed position is. From shoulder to hips, they are one long line of contact and it doesn't make her feel steady, only too warm to consider starting a dance. His bare chest pushes into hers and it's too much, it's not enough – her heart is fluttering and so is she –

"You're shivering," he notices, frowning slightly. "Are you cold?"

_Am I cold?_  She can hardly tell him that it's the opposite, that heat dances through her blood with the sweet recklessness of fireball, threatening to tear her apart. That dancing with Chan and Ryu was distant and comfortable, but with him, everything suddenly feels intimate, exciting, almost perilous.

From the way the other girls talked about the dragon's waltz, she assumed that she understood, theoretically, how desire made it better. Stupider. But better. But Katara has survived by dissociating her desires from the sight of men's bodies, and she doesn't know how to untangle the strange urges now threatening to overpower her. She doesn't really know how to feel about them at all.

Or how to act on them.

"Nervous," she squeaks, a conceding half-truth.

"Don't be." His voice is almost husky, bearing an edge that sends shivers down her spine. A little quirk plays along his mouth, the small upward lift at the corners that betrays the hint of a smile. The sight of it undoes the knot of unease binding her, slips it off like it's her dress.

The band strikes up its melody, music grinding slow and quiet throughout the lawn crowded tight with dancers. At first she's grateful for the unhurried pace allowing her to ease into the dance, but quickly realizes – as Zuko runs a hand down the length of her arm and spins her out – that there are other reasons to be flustered.

She thought Ty Lee was a demanding partner, but the way Zuko effortlessly steers her through the motions of the dance – spinning, flipping, dipping her every which way – alerts her to the gravity of her misconception. She laughs at the part of her that had shrivelled while watching him and Ty Lee dance earlier, because now she understands,  _this is easy, he makes it so easy_.

"You're going way too fast," she protests into crimson silk, the rivers of his lifeblood humming against her cheek. "Slow down."

"Not a chance," he counters, his voice low. The curve of his mouth widens into an unmistakeable smirk and her stomach does a series of Ty Lee's acrobatics at the sight of it. Their motions collide into a delirious enmeshing of steps and lingering touches and arching backs, speeding up in time to the music.

And more incredible is that she's keeping up with him, even though she shouldn't be. She should be completely tangled up in all of it, so overwhelmed that her mind should freeze, arms turning to stone, feet forgetting how to move. She should be a stuttering, stumbling mess.

But the way her body wordlessly moves in time with his seems to transcend rational thought. It reminds her of the moments at the height of her bending when her body bypasses the command of her mind to surrender to the harmony of the moment. This isn't a fight, but the same fluid instincts still take over. Her leg, remembering a lesson that her mind has long abandoned, kicks up to wrap around his waist, and when the air escapes through his teeth in a slow hiss she doesn't know whether to regret it or not. Instead, his fingers dig into her thigh, run up its length slowly, and the look in his eyes rivals the roaring bonfire in heat.

The coil of her stomach wrings impossibly tighter and all she can think of are Ty Lee's smug assurances back in the steam room –  _I'm pretty sure he'd make you forget about it pretty quickly_ … as though she'd known that awkwardness was the least of her concerns. As though her greatest fear was only that this would feel amazing.

When the music halts and everything slows around them, it takes them both a moment to realize it. One moment Katara finds herself clutching his shoulders in alarm at how low he's dipped her, and the next he's righting her back up to her feet in a motion fluid as the water she bends.

Her breathing is short and loud and she is absolutely drenched in sweat. Whether it's hers or his isn't quite clear and the lack of distinction makes her insides shudder with vicious satisfaction.

"That was –" she gasps, hands still fisted into the insubstantial silk of his vest.

"Yeah," Zuko agrees, appearing in no better shape than her. His grip is tight on her waist and his thick bangs are wet and snarled where his forehead still presses into hers.

"Really," she wheezes, fighting for air. It makes no sense. She spends entire days training with him, why should a single dance be able to take her breath away like this? "Really something."

"You were." He hasn't let go and neither has she, she realizes, noticing just how close he is and how it fills her with a thrill that even his lightning can't touch.

She swears it's his fault, that he must have lit a fire under her skin, except the agony consuming her is far sweeter. "Not like Ty Lee though." Ty Lee made everything look easy, she could dance circles around everyone here without gasping for air like a fish out of water. "That was really something to watch."

He exhales loudly, a sharp breeze that tickles her cheek. "That's because it wasn't the waltz." His fingers are deliberate as they brush at the damp curling hairs plastered to her brow. "It was an advanced form. The forbidden dance."

Her eyes widen at the familiar term. "The forbidden dance?" Suki and Ty Lee had talked about it reverently during her impromptu dance lesson. "That's…pretty intense."

He shrugs. "It's not that different from the waltz. I could show you if you want." His hand drops to her shoulder.

She feels his pulse where his skin touches hers, how it quickens at the thought. "I…I don't know," she confesses, biting at her lip, conscious of the way his eyes follow her every motion. "I could barely manage the waltz, let alone –"

"For you," Zuko says, leaning closer still, and an absurdly large part of her wants to close the lingering space between their faces, "it wouldn't be that different."

She should be quailing under the heat that rises from beneath his skin, curling up in embarrassment over the whole thing. Instead, she finds herself considering it. "Really?"

"Mhm." The small smile back on his lips, so very close to hers. The muscles in her neck twitch. "All you have to do is follow my lead." The hand at her shoulder drops back to her waist, trailing a slow path of sparks. She shudders, positive that he must feel her shivering in response. "Do you trust me?"

His question hangs in the small space between their faces, loaded with implications. She knows enough to weigh them carefully. Chan's warning earlier –  _it gives off the wrong connotation, you know?_  – flits into her mind, wars with Toph's sage advice –  _whatever happens, don't ruin it by thinking, okay?_ – and ultimately loses to Ty Lee's overriding assurance – _don't miss out on everything because you were scared._

And woven through it all is the understanding that she  _does_  trust him, and how different it feels compared to the last time she stood by the bonfires on Conquest Day. How liberating to admit it…and how utterly terrifying.

But Katara is tired of being scared. She nods slowly. Her throat has gone too tight to make speech a possibility.

This time, Zuko pays no heed to the music at all. Instead, he directs her through a dance that's more in sync with the frenzied pace of her heartbeat. She's relieved when he forgoes Ty Lee's acrobatic tosses, but less so when he replaces them with other sorts of flourishes – the forbidden dance was derived from a mating ritual, after all, and the realization strikes a heady jolt in her gut.

Then there isn't time to think at all, because the channels of water in her body are transmuting to pure fire, pliant and perfectly attuned to his hands. It succumbs to the blistering poise of every shot of fireball lingering on her tongue and the strange effervescence threatening to rend her skin apart. Her mind is jammed full to bursting with the million different textures that accompany him, and it doesn't matter. What matters more is the sway of their hips in time to the music, the ripple and flex of every one of his muscles, the way her back arches into the feathery kiss of his fingertips running up her spine. How it all melts through the fortress of ice in her chest.

She should find it troubling but it's overridden by the short bursts of his breath warm against the back of her neck. The small moan bubbling in her throat as his lips almost imperceptibly trace the hollow dip of her neck where the shoals of her pulse ripple most prominently, and how it turns her skin to dripping liquid gold.

It's a shock when the music ends, the sudden quiet and accompanying swell of exhausted murmurs somehow more abrasive to her heightened senses. She's panting now, starved lungs craving air, breath misting a reminder to how cold the night is and how she doesn't feel it at all. Zuko carefully lowers her back to the ground, his gaze the eye of all storms. She should crumble under the weight of it but the oceans in her swell up to meet him. All her attention is fixed on the slight part of his lips, absurdly close to hers, and how it makes breathing seem unimportant.

But instead she gasps, croaking, "I need air." Retreats with the only thing that makes sense to the ungainly fusion of mismatched instincts and inhibitions possessing her.

He stills before slowly inching away. "Right," he says in a voice like brontide. He seems to deflate and something in her does the same as he disentangles from her. "Thank you for the dance." The space between them yawns out again as he steps back just out of reach, entirely too far.

He turns away and it cracks through the brittle disconnect between mind and body. "Walk with me?" she blurts out, because it's too much to stay, far more so to let him leave.

The look he gives her is inscrutable. His mouth twists into a frown but his eyes remain unguarded. They seem to both pierce right through her and not see her at all.

She wonders what's going through his mind as he watches her, and more importantly, what thought finally compels him to join her.

* * *

Silence embalms them as she leads him into darkness, away from the bonfires and the laughing people and the taste of smoke in the air.

His face burns as he trails half a pace behind her, heart humming a desperate prayer as they traverse the familiar winding pathway that leads to the clearing with its crumbling stone walls where they practice their cross-training.

He may have envisioned this a thousand times over in a thousand different ways, but nothing could have prepared him for the way she smouldered, crashing into his touch with the force of the incoming tide. He's spent long years taming fire but she's something far more treacherously unpredictable and it surprises him that it's taken this long to realize it.

They pass the odd couple scattered here and there behind trees, faintly audible but invisible in the private embrace of lengthening shadows. He nearly jumps out of his skin again, wondering wildly if  _that_  was why she brought him here, alone, away from everyone and their prying eyes…

_This is either the stupidest thing you've ever done_ , his mind warns him,  _or the best._

The clearing behind them is swallowed by the night. The growing sound of moving water is the only thing that seems to exist besides the darkness and the faint heat of her body. He takes a moment to question it –  _what does she want from me, why are we here –_  before he banishes the tumult with all the patient surrender of someone who's mastered lightning.

They emerge from the chrysalis of the dead forest and his breath catches at the sight of the river, lined by the slopes of distant mountains, crowned by the endless expanse of night. A few paces away, the remnants of a bonfire have burned down to embers, heating the cold air with its shimmering red heart.

"I used to watch them all night long." Her voice shatters the silence with the timbre of breaking ice as she settles down in front of the coals, facing the river and the curtain of sky. "It took me six weeks to get from Master Pakku's school to here, and it was the best time of my life." She wraps her arms around her knees, rests her chin against them. "It was the first time since it all started that I felt free." The stars bathe her in their gentle light and he swears he can feel the tumble of the world swaying around him. "I'd stay up every night to watch the moon and the stars and nobody would tell me otherwise."

He kneels down next to her, the pull between them insistent as gravity, as though that's all it is and he's just been falling all this time. She glances at him over her shoulder and it banishes all the heat building from earlier, leaving him with only his inner fire to warm him. "You're free here," he points out, his voice a gentle rasp. "You could stay up all night and watch them if you wanted."

Her gentle scoff is a puff of warm air against his shoulder. "Not when I have to be up at the crack of dawn every day," she reproaches gently, tilting her head against her knees to watch him more comfortably. "Besides, the view from my quarters is pretty lousy, and it's more than I'm worth to risk getting caught sneaking out here after lights out."

He needs to touch her again, wrap an arm around her and pull her close. But everything about her is utterly unpredictable; surely this would have to be enough. His fingers interlace together firmly in his lap. "I could stay up with you," he suggests very incautiously. Her surprise freezes her slowly in place like crystals of ice across the surface of a pond. "I'm a prince, nobody would say anything to me."

Her eyes narrow at that, but the heat that hoods them is different from the anger she used to direct at him. "I'll bet," she says, words slippery with the wetness of her throat. Her mouth curves into a smile that doesn't do much to dissipate the roil of his gut rising with the awareness that maybe she expects him to do something, she'd danced with him twice after all…

A deafening explosion splits the air and both of them recoil abruptly. But the source of the noise becomes clear as somewhere down the river, the whistling blaze of fireworks paints the sky with showers of every colour – warm reds, verdant greens, deep blues. Dappled rainbows dye the gravelly sand around them, imbuing the dead trees with an almost lifelike glow.

Her delighted gasp tugs the corners of his mouth upward. The crackling display of colourful light is a sight to behold, but it's nothing compared to the look in her eyes. He leans a little closer. "It's not the southern lights," he mutters, his mouth hovering by her ear, "but it'll have to do for now."

Her shoulders stiffen before she yanks her eyes away from the colourful display overhead. She stares at him instead and it unnerves him. Fills him with confusion, the urge to do something he might not even come to regret…

Above them, the fireworks sparkle until they fizzle into clouds of curling grey smoke, tainting the air with the acrid smell and taste of sulphur. Silence reigns again, plunging them back into darkness and the twining maze of their uncertainties.

"Your home is beautiful," Katara admits at last, when the smoke finally disperses and becomes one with the cloudy swirl of stars. "I didn't want to think so at first, but – it is."

"I've never thought of this as home." His confession cracks through the surreal haze cradling them as bitterness seeps into his throat. "Home was back in Caldera." He glances at the stars, trying to determine their bearing before pointing at the darkened silhouettes of distant mountaintops across the river. "Somewhere over there."

Katara stretches out her legs, crossing them into a more comfortable position. Her knee digs into his thigh but she pays no heed to how the silk of his trousers flares with heat from his skin. "How long has it been?" she asks softly, and every part of him that isn't preoccupied with her nearness surges with relief that she isn't going to judge him or tell him he's being ungrateful or spoiled or any of it.

"Six years," he whispers, the words chafing in his mouth.

Her hands twist absently, rustling against the cotton of her dress. "That's a long time to be away." A pause that swells like air before heavy rainfall. "Was that when -?" She points at the twisted scar on his face before her hand falls into her lap again. Her head ducks away, evading his probing gaze. "Sorry, you don't have to answer – "

"How did you know?" Zuko asks, his breath under tight control as though he's bending an unruly inferno, which is what this conversation is beginning to feel like.

Katara jerks her head away to stare resolutely at the river. "I don't know," she admits. "You – talked about it the same way you talked about Agni Kai, the first time we played pai sho against your uncle." Zuko frowns, struggling to remember the conversation she's referring to. "I guess I just put two and two together." Her back slouches. "I wanted to be wrong."

It hurts, just how easily she reads him. How she can steadily confront that ugliness when he doesn't even want to think about it. But her presence by his side is a poultice against the memory of fire on his face. "I told you that you were right about him." The words wring out of him, a hard-won struggle.

The rush of water against the banks of the river soothes his ears. His inner fire keeps him warm from the breeze tousling his hair, but he wonders how she isn't shivering yet. "I said he was a monster," she returns, hands planted onto the ground as she leans back. "But there's a difference between one that kills people who don't look like him, and one who'd burn his own son across the face." Her voice quivers and he wonders stupidly if she's going to cry again, if she might hug him again.

"Is there?" His voice is the quiet hiss of a dying candle.

"I don't know anymore." She shakes her head steadily at first and then more violently. "All that time, I was so mad at you for being his son and I – I never knew. I never thought you might be –" Her voice drops off, embers snuffing into ash. "I had no idea."

"How could you?" he asks into the darkness. "Nobody knows except my uncle." His voice sharpens. "No one  _can_  know."

"I wasn't going to tell anyone," Katara reproaches defensively. Her fingers trace little circles into the dirt by his feet. "It's your scar."

His hand comes up to touch it, a gesture engrained into his muscles after years of habit. "I tried to do what I thought was right." The words come from somewhere inside him, bursting forth through the dam of his chest wall. "What I thought was honourable. I didn't know he would get so angry. I was so scared when I saw him walk into the arena, I just – gave up. Threw myself to his feet and begged for mercy as though I was some kid."

"But you were a kid," Katara murmurs.

"I was a prince," Zuko spits. "I was thirteen years old. I should have been able to fight back, but…but he was my father and I loved him." He can't decide if its rage or sorrow that strains his voice. "I wanted him to respect me. But instead he taught me a permanent lesson on my face – in front of half the court, no less. He said that I had no honour and wasn't worthy of being his son. He cast me out." Her hands fly to her mouth, a gasp rumbling through the cage of her fingers. "Then my uncle sent for me and I ended up here. But I've never heard from my father since."

His fingertips dig into the edge of his scar before he eventually gives up and drops his hand back into his lap.

"That's –" Katara stammers, "I – I thought I could stop being surprised by how cruel your father can be." Her hands settle onto her thighs. "I guess I was wrong."

"All this time I've wondered what I could have done differently," Zuko whispers bitterly. His fists ball into the draping folds of his trousers. "But I couldn't let those recruits get sacrificed without speaking out, and I couldn't have defeated my father. No matter what, I would have ended up exiled from my home with this stupid scar on my face." His fingers flash and there's a smell of smouldering silk. "My personal mark of shame."

"Where I come from, we'd call it a mark of honour," Katara counters gently. He turns on her incredulously, the scoff halfway out of his mouth as she continues. "You did the right thing, Zuko. Your father was wrong, not you. You're nothing like him and it's…it's the best thing about you."

The contempt dies in his throat at that. "You…you really think so?"

"I do," Katara insists. She faces the water again, the flowing ripple of dark blue reflected in the disquiet of her eyes. "I wish I could heal it for you –"

His eyes widen at the unexpected generosity. "It's a scar," he states, frowning at her. "It can't be healed."

She sighs, shoulders rising and falling with the motion. "I know," she laments. "I've tried." And then it strikes him,  _of course_ , the jolt of understanding searing away as he tries, utterly fails to envision burns shaped like handprints somewhere along the hidden planes of her skin. "But they don't ever really heal, do they?"

"No they don't," he breathes, feeling some small measure of peace settle over him like the caress of bright starlight. "You just learn to live with them."

"It's not enough," Katara declares bitterly.

"It's never enough," he agrees quietly. "But it has to end somewhere, right?"

She shifts again, twisting her body to face him. "Right," she whispers.

And then she reaches out with fingers like tendrils of water, cold as ice against his scar. He'd thought himself numb to all feeling there, but her touch pulls him in.

It engulfs him.

* * *

For a moment, everything freezes. Silence stretches out like the infinite expanse of the sky. No sun, no moon to bear witness. They are suspended in darkness, lit only by the milky glow of starlight, touching them with a faint crystalline shimmer until they're just statues of clay and alabaster.

The line between them is always shifting beneath their feet, inconsistent as the meld of scar tissue to unblemished skin trembling under her fingertips. But this time, there is no doubt in Katara's mind that she has crossed it. She expects him to lash out with the ferocity of a wounded beast. After all, she's done far worse in the past, for far less a slight.

Instead he makes a strangled sort of sound, the sound of a man drowning. She glimpses a flash of twin fires blazing where his eyes should be, but then his hands are twining into her hair and all she can feel are his lips searing hot against her own like a brand.

She gasps against his mouth even as every other part of her sighs. His breath is ragged and she cannot believe the heat that grips her as his tongue traces the outline of her lip. There are little sounds welling in the hollows of her throat that seem to cry out as he steals the last breath from her lungs.

Her hands find the smooth ridges of muscle lining his torso, trace them under her fingers, and she swears she breathes in steam as he lets out a groan. The sound surprises her but not half so much as the way her body undulates against him, seeking to quench a long-forgotten thirst.

She's aware of the ground, coarse with flecks of gravel and dirt, rising up to press into her back with the weight of his body. Clutching at his shoulders, crushing him closer until everything is too hot to the touch. He breaks away and she chokes on air too cold for her lungs, dragging in sharp bursts like the strange breathy whimpers escaping her as he presses his face into the crook of her neck, blazing fevers into her blood with the touch of his lips to her skin.

_Spirits – this feels –_

His mouth finds hers again and she rises to meet him. Hands burrowing into the thick silk of his hair, she blindly kisses him back and there are teeth in there somewhere, raking along swelling lips. Her insides go liquid as the surface of her skin, simmering where his hand trails along the curve of her waist to rest at her hip where her dress has bunched up. His body rocks against hers, kneading the writhing coil in her stomach until her hips tilt in response. Her heart beats so hard it makes her chest hurt.

She's been touched before but never like this. As though it isn't about power or control at all, as though the only thing he wants is to give in. It fills her until she thinks she's going to burst from everything she isn't prepared to feel - like she's invincible, like she's impossibly vulnerable.

Panic surges fresh as it catches up with her in a flash –  _wait how far is this going to go, it's too much, I can't_  – the memories flow, paralyzing: being too desperate to be uncomfortable, too hungry to be afraid. The lingering press of eyes, hands on her body, etched into her skin as clearly as her scars – forgotten but never healed.

Somewhere above her, he must sense that something isn't quite right with her because he stops. "What's wrong?" His voice is a concerned murmur in her ear, but even through the sparks skittering down the thread of her veins, bile rises somewhere in the back of her throat.

She tries to swallow it back down, but the sourness lingering in her mouth vies for dominance against the taste of him. Her skin seethes everywhere. "I –" she stammers, her voice so reedy it doesn't even sound like her, "I don't know if I can."

The weight pressing into her chest feels even heavier as he sits up abruptly, eyebrows knitting together upward. "I'm so sorry," he blurts out in alarm. "I didn't mean to overstep –"

Rising slowly, she shakes her head. The cold air stings her skin, but not as much as the loss of his warmth. "It's not that."

Perhaps he's able to draw some solace in the way her voice cracks on her words, the quivering of her body that doesn't have much to do with the chill of the night. "Then…what is it?"

She opens and closes her mouth, failing to find the words. "It's too much," she whispers, scrunching her eyes shut. From here, the world seems delightfully simple – cold, dark, empty of his heat and that awful look in his eyes. "I can't – I've never felt things – too many things…"

Zuko lets out a shuddering breath at her clumsy explanation, tangling in the air like weeds blocking a drainpipe. "Felt things," he repeats, rather delicately. "What things?"

She hesitates. How is she supposed to explain the feeling of utter terror crawling through her? That it should be incredible – there's something alive inside her that she thought she'd buried long ago – but it's difficult to accept and harder to push away. Katara is ill prepared for this sort of intimacy and yet, here she is anyway.

To say nothing of who he  _is_. By now she knows that he's far more than just a firebender, so much more than just Ozai's son.  _But that's who he is. And what does that say about me? What would Sokka say? What about the others? Would they call me a traitor? Does that make me one?_

"It's complicated," she stammers. "I don't –"  _Where do I even start?_  Her arms tighten across her chest, fingertips digging into the skin of her elbows as though by doing so she can physically hold herself together. "I've never been with someone who didn't, you know – like Jet – who just wanted to use me."

The night air feels infinitely colder, or maybe it's just the icy look on Zuko's face at the mention of Jet's name. "I would never do what he did to you," he swears, clenched knuckles glowing white in the dimness of the night.

She thinks she's offended him by bringing him up. "I know. I'm just -" In fact, now that she thinks about it, she isn't quite sure what he wants from her at all. Or where that would fit into this increasingly confusing puzzle of kisses and feelings and intentions. "I'm not used to things that aren't completely fucked up. This is…really new and confusing for me."

The sympathy that softens his face is almost harder to stomach than the distance he maintains between them – a handspan or two, but altogether too far. "I'm sorry," he repeats, hands clasped tightly in his lap. The memory of his touch burns like phantom fingers on her skin. "I shouldn't have done it."

Something inside her breaks like glass at that. "Then why did you?" She isn't sure if it's curiosity or accusation that lends strength to her voice. She isn't sure if she wants to know at all.

Zuko goes quiet as the grave, as though her question has looped a noose around his neck. He lowers his eyes until his hair shadows them from her view. "I don't know," he says to the ground between their knees, carefully – almost too carefully, like it's a lie rehearsed several times over. "I mean – we were drinking – it doesn't have to mean anything, nothing's changed."

The world lurches around her. He could be right, maybe it's just the fireball whispering strange notions into her body and come the morning she'll wake up and things between them would be as usual. After all, even Suki and Ty Lee had warned her about teenage boys and the way their feelings shifted back and forth from desire at the push of a button.

"Yeah," she agrees, strangely stricken as everything settles slightly off-kilter. "But – I still – I want us to be okay." A pleading note enters her voice and she settles for touching her fingertips to his knee. "Are we okay?"

A jolt goes through him at her touch, but he doesn't lose his composure. "Of course," he croaks. One of his hands clamps down over hers and she fights to hold in a sigh of relief. "Whatever you need. I – I'm here."

Whatever she needs. She needs him to kiss her again; she needs to understand why admitting that makes her excited and sick with shame at the same time. She needs everything to make sense in her tired, confused head.

Yet she finds herself unable to say a thing. Her throat is clamped shut by the pounding staccato of her pulse, drumming against her ears like galloping footfalls across the riverbanks, shaking the earth beneath her feet.

But as the sound grows louder and Zuko's head snaps in confusion toward the river, she realizes that it isn't in her mind at all. Something bounds toward them, splashing through the shallows, crashing onto the shore with a cry and a snarl and a groan.

"What the -?" Zuko scrambles to his feet. Katara follows his gaze to where the strangest creature she's ever seen has appeared as though out of nowhere, panting heavily and baring sharp shiny teeth.

"You! What are you doing here?" Zuko's voice is loud as he marches up to it. Before Katara can even think to be afraid of the feral-looking beast, she sees someone slide off its back gracelessly, land on the ground heavily with a pained hiss.

Katara gets to her feet too, trying to get a closer look at the pale woman limping toward them. Her distress vanishes, dispelled by the sense of urgency that commands the two unexpected arrivals.

"Sorry to crash your little date –" the woman bites out sharply, before she tilts her head. Her brow wrinkles faintly, painted lips twist into an amused grimace. "Is that you, Angry Boy?"

_Angry Boy?_  Katara's eyes flit from the woman to where Zuko's back is racked with new tension.  _Do they know each other?_

"Don't call me that!" Zuko shouts, hands curling into fists.

_They definitely know each other_. Zuko would never talk like that to a stranger. Stepping closer, Katara notices with a twinge of dread just how battered the woman looks, like she could faint at any moment.

"She's hurt, Zuko," Katara chides him. The woman hunches over to press a fist into her mouth, coughing wetly. Dark, shiny liquid drips down the line of her chin. The instinct to heal overwhelms everything else and she rushes over to her side, reaching. "Here, let me help you –"

"No," the woman refuses, shoving her aside. Taken aback by how much strength the injured woman still has, Katara stumbles onto the ground. The woman leans against her strange beast for support, swaying alarmingly. Through her hacking coughs, her next words are barely recognizable. "There's no time. Get me – General Iroh –"

"General Iroh?" Katara echoes, her confusion spiking as she tries to find her feet.

The woman heaves in a deep breath, doubles over from the pain of it. Spits red droplets onto grey pebbles. " _Now_." Her voice is a hiss of sound forced through clenched teeth.

Zuko takes a step back, clearly surprised. "He isn't here," he answers, the hostility vanishing from his voice. "He – he's probably back in the capital by now."

The woman lets out a scream of aggravation, stumbling forward, knees buckling. "Then get me…get me whoever's in command here." she pants, scrabbling at the ground with furious fingers. The creature nudges at her waist and she sits back on her haunches, gasping. "Like your life depended on it."

This time when Katara gives her an arm, she doesn't fling it off. Instead, she leans on the waterbender, planting a hand on her shoulder.

"You're going to collapse," Zuko maintains, kneeling to sit. "First let us help you. Your report for my uncle – whatever it is – it can wait."

"I'm a healer," Katara blurts out, surreptitiously tracing the woman's side. All of her injuries leap out at her – cracked ribs, internal bleeding threatening to hemorrhage – and she blinks back her shock. This woman seems like she's been dragged through hell and back.  _"_ Please, you're hurt really badly –"

"No!" the woman repeats stubbornly, her voice a growl of defiance. She grabs at the air behind her for the beast's reins. "You don't get it – you're in danger. All of you."

"Danger?" Zuko echoes, raising his eyebrows. "Danger from what?"

"That's why I need to see your General!" The woman shouts, clutching at her wounded side. "It's the Dai Li –"

A new sort of fear grips Katara at the woman's words.

"What do you mean?" Across from them, Zuko's voice has gone dangerously quiet. The scar on his face twists forbiddingly. "What about the Dai Li?"

Katara isn't fooled by his severity. Underneath its steely façade, she's prepared to bet that her fear pales in comparison to his.

"They're coming," the woman breathes hoarsely, voice splintering. She pushes off, tries to crawl again and Katara nearly buckles from the shift in the woman's weight. "Coming for you –"

The sound of flowing water turns cold in Katara's ears. Against the wind, the dead trees lining the river seem to groan, branches waving like spindly fingers reaching for them. Overhead, the glitter of starlight appears almost malevolent.

"Where?" The voice that reaches Katara's ears doesn't even sound like Zuko's anymore. It sounds like a frightened little boy's.

Shaking violently, the woman meets Zuko's gaze in mad desperation. "Get me…your General." The faltering crack of her voice only adds weight to her command.

Zuko pauses to exchange an unsure glance with Katara, some unspoken agreement settling between them. "Alright," he decides, getting to his feet, "alright – I'll get Shinu. You stay here with Katara and try not to die –"

"Quick," the woman murmurs, drooping forward as Zuko rushes off and Katara tries to grab her by the shoulders, watching unconsciousness threaten to take her. "Split up – Lee said – two days now –"

"It's okay," Katara tries to soothe her, hastily scanning her surroundings for water, summoning it from the river. "You're safe, we're going to help you –"

The woman's face is scrunched up, but the deep furrows in her skin loosen one by one. "Quick," she repeats. Her words are barely audible but they still ring deafeningly. "Not quick enough…"

In the glow of the water gloving Katara's hands, the pain seems to fade from the woman's face, smoothing out to tranquility as her body falls slack.

And then there's only the calm cold of the night, still and silent as the air inside a tomb.


	23. shadows dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emergency war council is convened.

**disclaimer.**  nothing new here, folks, move along.

**author's notes.**  thanks to everyone for reading, and a super big thanks to circasurvival (both for beta-reading and for entertaining my atla/zutara madness lmao).

i give you...

**southern lights.**

**chapter xxiii.**  shadows dancing

* * *

_she couldn't see how to give her light to the water_  
_looking up from the depths, he didn't know how to want her_  
_and what same things could these two know  
_ _when one is so deep, the other to glow?_

"pine moon" / feist

* * *

It seems to Jun that time itself passes most inconsistently. First in great big dollops, melting around her until it seems like there's scarcely any left, and then suddenly completely still, as though it ceased to exist altogether.

She floats in the feeling, aware only of darkness and something cool sliding with gentle fingers along the line of her ribs. " _Pushed too hard_ ," a voice echoes all around her, " _…fix it…could take time…"_

Coughing, sputtering, she tries to choke out,  _no time, hurry_ , but it gets caught in her windpipe, flagging like the scattered beats of her pulse, the very blood in her veins struggling to flow without pooling where it shouldn't: in her gut, her mouth, the floor…

" _Hemorrhaging badly_." The voice speaks again as something gurgles in Jun's ears – is it coming from her? She can't tell anymore. " _…wait…_ "

_Can't wait_ , Jun thinks thickly but it seems more and more like she's wading through tar, limbs stuck, breathing stifled, every motion too difficult…

She isn't sure if she imagines steadfast grimness passing through blue eyes –  _Lee, what's Lee doing here –_  but it's a girl's voice that rings in her ears. " _Rest_ ," it commands.

And then suddenly, instead of stopping, it seems like time is running backward, events of the past few hours playing catch-up with Jun's delirious senses.

There's the river and the forest at night and two teenagers canoodling – she chokes a laugh at that –  _interrupted your date, sorry_ – and fireworks in the sky leading the way –

Nyla's breath heavy in the night, or maybe it's just her own – the stitch in her side twisting like a spear, piercing through her like a million splinters of hunger –  _have to be quicker_ –

Cawing in her ear, a feathery weight landing on her shoulder –  _that was fast_  – sky tinged lavender, the setting sun glaring over the water –

Pain lancing through her bones with every one of Nyla's footfalls, sun high in the sky, Lee's voice complaining in her ears –  _can't this thing go any faster? I could get out and run faster than this…supposed to catch up with them yesterday –_

Indignation flooding hot like blood in her mouth as she protests –  _going nonstop for four days now…if we don't rest soon the only thing we'll catch will be an early grave…_

Lee's determination as he twists back to face her. "You're slowing me down," he accuses, gripping Nyla's reins with one hand. "I was supposed to muster with the rest by midday."

"Fuck you too," Jun gasps back as Lee reluctantly steers Nyla to a halt. Silence rumbles around them. "What do we do?"

Nyla's back springing slightly as Lee vaults off it. "We need to split up. If I leave now, with luck I'll make it by nightfall –"

"Excuse you?" Jun's fingers twisting into Nyla's reins anyway. "What the fuck am I gonna do on my own?"

"You go warn the Grand Lotus –" Lee is saying, unclipping his satchel from Nyla's harness, "raise the alarm –"

"They're not going to believe me without you there." The uncertainty entering her voice, Nyla's back starting to slump under her thighs…

"Look – it'll be too suspicious if I don't show up at all! This way I can keep sending you intel whenever I can –" His hand raising up to determine his bearing, the hard slash of his mouth burning through her consciousness, spurring her to action. "Just find them quick, OK? I'll be in touch…"

_Quick_ , Jun tries to say, except the darkness swallows it up, it swallows everything up, sending her hurtling toward oblivion.

* * *

By the time Katara stumbles back to her room, the sun is almost peeking up over the horizon. She clambers into her bunk still smelling like bonfire smoke, too tired to change out of the violet dress stained with dirt and sweat and blood.

"You were out late." Toph's sleepy voice drifts up from the bunk below. Through its hoarseness, the smugness is detectable. "Sparky keep you up all night?"

The insinuation churns her stomach. Katara screws her eyes shut, her head pounding with the start of a monstrous hangover, the last few hours jarring in her mind. "Actually, I was busy healing a random bounty hunter," she grates, pulling at her blanket resolutely. "I'm awfully tired. Good night."

"Huh," Toph says into empty air. "That's a shame. Night."

Except the blanket's warmth is uncomfortable, unnecessary because she seems to be burning up. Her heart races at double its usual speed, her gut restless with some newly awakened need, and every inch of her skin throbs with heat.

Frustration rushing like steam out her ears, she kicks the blanket off and clutches at her pillow, trying not to think of Zuko at all.

She drifts to sleep thinking of no one else.

* * *

Zuko doesn't sleep well at all, dreams mixing with frantic thoughts so imperceptibly he wonders if he imagined the entire thing. It would almost be easier to bear.

But no, it was real and it fills him with conflicting, raging things that threaten to pull him apart. Katara wanted him – to dance, to kiss, to touch – and then she didn't.

_We've been drinking_ , he lied and the relief that lit up her face was like a sucker punch to the gut –  _a mistake, it was a mistake, she didn't want to, not really –_

It makes him sick to his stomach. He's never wanted someone this badly – with every inch of his being, every thought in his head bent on her – and now that she's within reach, it feels all the more frustratingly unfair that she withdrew again.

Even if he understands, even if it makes sense. And hell, what did he expect anyway? That she'd want to fuck by the riverside?  _As if._  The idea is so far-fetched, he's almost glad they didn't. He already dreads having to face her in the morning; it's a blessing to be spared any extra awkwardness. Or pain.

No, he resolves, it would be kinder to just let it go, pretend it never happened at all – it's what she needs after all. He would just have to manage like he's always done.

Except that seems almost impossible now. His fantasies are worse because he doesn't need to imagine the taste of her mouth, what her body felt like under his, her fingers tracing his skin  _–_  he  _knows_. He knows that she could surge back into him with a ferocity that made his brains plummet into his loins and thinking rather impossible.

A very tired part of him wishes he didn't feel this way about her at all – that he could be as heartless as his father and be spared this exhausting madness. But then Katara's voice whispers –  _you're nothing like him, it's the best thing about you_  – and it lances through him like all the stars piercing through the dark canopy of sky: a faint glow of warmth alive in his veins, a visceral ache gnawing at his chest.

_She's going to kill me. Agni, she's going to fucking kill me if I keep this up. I have to let this go._

When one of the officers knocks on his door to inform him about an emergency council meeting, it's almost a relief. He drags himself to the privy, splashing ice-cold water onto his face, scrubbing his body with soap to wash off the grime of the night before.

But the maddening whiff of waterlilies lingers somewhere on his skin, despite it all.

* * *

"Now that we are all assembled here," General Shinu says in his deep, steady voice, "we can address the matter at hand."

It is half past midmorning and they are gathered in Shinu's pavilion. The council chamber is small and tidy; the only decoration is the large Fire Empire flag hanging from the wall. Midwinter sunlight filters through gaps in the drawn curtains, cutting through the dim haze with a cold yellow glare. About a dozen people huddle around a long rectangular table covered with a giant map, Shinu sitting at the head. Everyone wears the crimson and gold velvets of command, but the uniforms are less sharply pressed than usual.

"This had better be an emergency, General," Captain Shu grumbles, clapping a hand to his forehead. Behind him, a petty officer passes cups of tea off a tray. "I would wager that many of us here are still – delicate – from last night's festivities."

From the dark mutters chorusing from around the table, it is apparent to Zuko that the majority agree with Shu's complaint. Everyone is wan and tired, gulping strong tea brewed with none of his uncle's finesse. Though Katara – a blur in the corner of his eye – definitely appears the worst off: face drawn, dark circles under heavily lidded eyes, unkempt as though she'd literally been dragged from her bed.

_Still striking._  The thought bursts with a twinge of resentment, amplified by the small smile she offered him when she sat down – effortlessly, obliviously –  _damn her…_ He forces himself to look away, cursing inwardly.

General Shinu scowls at Captain Shu, his bulk and sharply trimmed whiskers adding to his ferocity. "That is unfortunate," he replies in a booming voice that causes more than one person to visibly wince, "but nonetheless, we must get to the bottom of this matter." The slight wryness in his voice suggests that given the choice, he too would rather have remained abed.

He nods at the bounty hunter sitting next to him. She looks in better shape than she had the night before. Though her face is still pale and white bandages peek out from the rips in her clothing, there's an energy about her that seems to be a result of a couple hours' rest and Katara's skilful healing.

"This is Jun," General Shinu states. "She is an – associate – of General Iroh's."

"A common bounty hunter," someone mutters darkly, glaring at Jun where she sits.

General Shinu intercepts the glare. "A personal friend to General Iroh regardless of her occupation, who risked her life to bring us vital information. You will treat her with the respect that befits your station, Major Kuro. Is that clear?"

The major glowers, but is cowed into submission. Dropping the matter from notice, General Shinu turns back to Jun, who appears thoroughly unconcerned by Major Kuro's disapproval. "Perhaps Jun would be best suited to brief the council of her findings."

"Thanks for the stage, General," she answers, voice tense and clipped. She leans forward, elbows braced against the table. "According to my intelligence, the Dai Li have gathered half a day's march away from here. They plan to launch an assault here at sunrise, three days past Day of the Dragons, to prove to the Empire that the Earth territories are not weak and will submit no longer. That even within the borders of their nation, the Imperial Army isn't safe from them."

Jun's pronouncement hits Zuko like a sharp rock smashing into his chest. He's heavy and cold, the room spinning like a monstrous whirlpool threatening to drown him, the uproar of the council the only thing keeping him from going under.

"Impossible!"

"That's outrageous!"

"The Dai Li have been our allies, why would they turn on us now?"

General Shinu pounds a fist on the table. "I will have  _order_ ," he commands sharply. The rabble quiets into an uneasy silence. "By Agni, the next time you forget your discipline will be the last time I put up with it. This is a serious threat."

"If it's even true," Major Kuro points out dubiously. "I, for one, am curious at how this bounty hunter arrived at such a conclusion, when none of our intelligence seems to corroborate it."

General Shinu directs a frown at Jun. "Perhaps you'd like to elaborate." It isn't a request. Even through the cool draft in the room, Zuko begins to sweat beneath his uniform, clammy fingers twisting absently at the red velvet bunched in his lap.

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever you want. I'm on your clock now," Jun's voice takes on its usual laconic drawl. "It's a long twisty tale, gentlemen, so I think I'll just start from the beginning if it's all the same to you." Ignoring the rising scepticism from the side of the table manned by command staff, she reaches into her belt with a slight hiss of pain and withdraws an enamelled green knife.

Zuko's breath stills in his lungs. The knife shimmers innocuously in the golden light, but it manages to bring an ominous cloud of memories with it – Jet's dead body, a hooked sword piercing his heart, Katara's healing hands on his chest…

"A couple of months ago," Jun says as he struggles to bury his agitation with slow, measured breaths, "General Iroh sent me this knife and asked me to figure out where it came from."

_So she's the informant that Uncle sent to investigate_. Zuko is not sure whether this reassures him or not. He is aware of how ruthlessly capable Jun can be, but her presence still unnerves him.

"I first traced the knife to the old palace in Ba Sing Se – the seat of the Dai Li and their operations. From there it was passed on to a minor noble by the name of Lord Huang Shi. Owns a bunch of theatres and teashops. Any of you familiar with the name?"

Zuko frowns as everyone assembled at the table shakes their heads in bewilderment.  _What connection could there be between a teashop entrepreneur half a world away and the Dai Li trying to have me killed?_

"Didn't think so," Jun quips. "I'm pretty sure he's just a foil, but I thought I'd ask…" She spins the knife idly on the table. Zuko stares at the green and gold whir, the sound it makes as it slices through the air. "Huang Shi didn't keep the knife for very long. Either it was stolen or handed to someone else. A so-called freedom fighter, well-known in Ba Sing Se for being a disturber of the peace."

He hears Katara's sharp intake of breath, but doesn't look at her. Tragic as Jet's death was, the thought of him still fills Zuko with cold fury.  _Let Katara feel sorry for him if she has to. That bastard deserved what he got for the way he treated her._

"Things get a little fuzzy after that," Jun admits, hesitation entering her voice for the first time. "My shirshu finds people by their scent. But for some reason, it's damn near impossible to track any of the Dai Li. Their scent keeps vanishing, like they're not even made of flesh and blood." The knife scratches against the wooden table as it scrapes to a stop. "But according to information that I gained from a source placed within the Dai Li, I was able to confirm a couple of things. First, that this freedom fighter was one of the Dai Li's sleepers."

He closes his eyes, feeling like someone's poured a bucket of ice-cold water down his spine as the words sink in.  _Just like Katara said_.

"Sleepers?" Captain Shu interjects in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"You could say the Dai Li have a bunch of…neat little ways to keep the peace back home." The sound of the knife being spun again, whirling like a top on its point. "Fear, spies, arbitrary imprisonment. And if you've been  _really_  naughty, they nab you for rehabilitation. People come back totally changed, ready to do the Dai Li's dirty work at the drop of a pin." Her mouth twists. "That's why we call them sleepers."

The silence that follows her words is tinged with distaste.

"So this…" Captain Shu is struggling to follow Jun's sequence of events, "freedom fighter was enlisted by the Dai Li into…carrying this knife somewhere? I don't follow."

Zuko's frown deepens.  _That isn't right. Jet didn't carry the knife, he was killed by it._

"Not quite," Jun says. "The scent disappeared in Ba Sing Se so it's hard to be sure – but I'll bet the Dai Li sent one of their own with the sleeper, armed with that knife. From my source, I know that he was ordered on a secret mission to destabilize the royal family." Her fingers drum against the tabletop, matching the rhythm of Zuko's heartbeat skyrocketing in anticipation. "The target was located at a training camp in the middle of nowhere. A prince of the Fire Nation, alone and vulnerable – ripe for assassination."

Zuko feels the weight of everyone's gaze on him. He opens his eyes but looks only at Jun. "Me," he says tonelessly, more tired than shocked.

"You bet, Prince Pouty," Jun replies levelly.

"But – but what would the Dai Li hope to accomplish by that?" Major Kuro sputters. "That is quite an accusation to make."

"Well, one day you have a big, strong Empire and a royal family with plenty of strong heirs. The next, someone the royal family once considered an ally cuts down a sympathetic young prince before his time. How do you think the Empire would respond, Major Kuro? Maybe…start a war? The Dai Li would be able to consolidate its hold on the Earth territories with something more powerful than fear." She bares her teeth into a leer. "Hatred of the Fire Nation."

Gasps and stutters echo around the table, a rising swell of shock and outrage. A leaden weight settles like a stone in the pit of Zuko's stomach, dread pooling as he tries to keep up with Jun's grim tidings. "But that would be foolish!" Major Kuro objects. "Why would the Dai Li turn on an ally and court war with us? We defeated them before, it – it makes no sense…"

"Plenty of people back home disagree," Jun counters. "They think that the Fire Nation succeeded only because of Sozin's comet. That if the fight happened today, the combined might of the Earth territories could expel the Fire Nation once and for all." She steeples her fingers and leans back in her chair. "Every other month, there's some rebellion or another, only to get crushed. And the people only get poorer, even as the Empire prospers. Why wouldn't they hate you?"

"So you're a rebel sympathizer then?" Major Kuro scoffs.

"You asked me a question and I gave you the truth," she pushes back severely. "My feelings are none of your business. I didn't have to risk my life to warn you about this. Like it or not, I'm the only friend you have with skin in the game." Her painted lips curve into a mirthless smile and her voice turns coy. "So you'd better start being nice to me."

Major Kuro flusters indignantly but Jun continues, undeterred. "But, something obviously went wrong. Your prince lives; the freedom fighter never returned; the knife somehow wound up in the clutches of your precious General, who sent it to me to investigate; and now the Dai Li are scrambling to cover their trail. If there was a plot to leverage the assassination of Prince Zuko to incite an insurrection against the Empire, it failed." She gestures vaguely at Zuko and rolls her eyes. "Clearly."

Zuko's mouth goes dry as he tries to remember that night and how close Jet had gotten to his objective.  _If it hadn't been for Toph and Katara –_

"You look rather unsurprised by this development, Prince Zuko," Jeong-Jeong notes grimly. Zuko blinks, but meets his somber gaze nonetheless. "Is there any knowledge of this incident that you would care to share?"

Toph scowls at the table, Aang looks at him nervously, and Katara chews at her lip, doubtless trying to piece things together in that inexhaustible mind of hers. He knows none of them are going to say a word; they swore to his Uncle that they wouldn't. His eyes flicker over to Jun and General Shinu, to the large Fire Nation flag hanging on the wall behind them.

"Yes," he hears himself say quite calmly, as though to the crimson-and-black flame emblem itself. He feels so distant, as if he's narrating a story from someone else's life. "The freedom fighter turned up in my room in the middle of the night with a couple of swords. If it hadn't been for Toph and Katara – he would have killed me."

The babble of shock and horror that follows his words is almost comical.

"How did this happen, Your Highness?" General Shinu asks Zuko, waving a hand to silence the room. The man, so unflappable, now appears shaken. "And why was nobody made aware of it?"

"That's a good question, General," Jun prompts, resting her chin against the heel of her hand, her voice sweet as she cocks her head. "How did a couple of Dai Li assassins manage to sneak into your base, almost assassinate Angry Boy here, and escape without being noticed?"

"Hey. I noticed," Toph speaks up, slyly satisfied even through the seriousness of the conversation. "I sensed the guy – the sleeper, whatever – when he passed by our dorm. It was in the middle of the night and I'd never felt anyone sneaking around like that before. So I woke Sweetness –"

"From what she said, it didn't sound like the guy was up to any good," Katara takes up the narrative, glancing tiredly at Toph. "We followed him back to…to Prince Zuko's quarters, I guess." Her voice catches on his name; he tries not to read into it. "He already struck a killing blow. I managed to heal him, though, and uh – Toph immobilized the sleeper. We were going to try questioning him when – when –"

She falters, face screwing up in confusion. Zuko remembers it vividly, even though it feels like a lifetime ago: her shriek, hearing rather than seeing Jet's dead body slump to the ground…

"When the sleeper was murdered," he finishes firmly, noticing her turn her head to face him in his peripheral vision. Resisting the urge to meet her eyes, he instead trains his gaze unwaveringly on the General. "Somebody buried a knife in his chest and escaped before Toph or I could identify them." He nods at the green knife spinning in Jun's fingers. "That knife."

"Makes sense," Jun comments with a shrug, even as Shinu's face loses its steady composure. "Like I said, the sleepers don't walk alone. There's always someone watching, making sure that everything goes according to plan…and fix it if it doesn't."

"But then why leave the knife behind?" Katara queries, clearly still trying to piece everything together along with everyone else. "It makes no sense."

"Well, either they got sloppy, or they wanted you to find it," Jun offers. "This mission – hell, it was a literal suicide mission. I bet the Dai Li hoped if things went south, the sleeper would die trying. Once it became clear they could be compromised, their priority was probably just damage control." Her fingers scratch against rough wood. "A knife left at the crime scene wouldn't pose as much of a threat. The Dai Li are experts at evasion – if someone came investigating, they'd know to bury the trail. And who to intimidate into dropping the search."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Zuko asks, wondering about her injuries. All the little pieces from the night before suddenly click into place: a woman riding into the camp in the dead of the night, rambling about the Dai Li with feverish urgency, nearly collapsing from her injuries, restless and refusing help as her blood stained Katara's hands and pretty dress…

"I'm not easily intimidated," Jun asserts, smirking at him. "But they did try. Luckily, my source from within the Dai Li was able to help me out and put a few pieces together. For starters, that they had everyone on high alert for this knife, because it's the only thing that connected them to the failed mission." Her voice hardens. "But I didn't come here to talk about that. Like I said, you've got bigger problems headed your way, and fast."

With a wince, she withdraws a rolled-up piece of paper from her belt. Even though the morning sunshine is unwaveringly bright, Zuko feels as if a cloud has entered the room as Jun flattens the paper onto the table and pins down its curling edges.

"The Dai Li's strike here is going to be bigger and bolder," she begins, running a finger along the paper's surface, "to rail against the Empire's rule. The time for it is ripe, now that Emperor Azulon is gone and the royal family appears… divided."

"Divided?" Captain Shu echoes in confusion. "But the succession is clear! The coronation date is being determined by the Fire Sages as we speak!"

"You don't get out much, do you?" Jun snorts. "Nobody's forgotten about how Ozai treated the Water Tribe children in his colonial schools, and now apparently he can't even keep his own family in line." Zuko's eyebrow shoots up to his hairline as she continues in amusement. "You know, people say his wife locked herself in a tower rather than have to see his face again, and his only son renounced him, chose exile instead of following in his footsteps –"

A coughing fit possesses him at that. " _Really?_ " Zuko wheezes, mind reeling at how the rumours could get that so astonishingly wrong.

"Boy, Prince Pouty," Jun grouses, "you don't get out much either."

"Fishers and housewives with idle tongues!" Major Kuro disparages loudly. "Are you telling us to question our loyalty on the basis of gossips and rumours?"

"Gossip and rumours are my business. If you keep your mouth shut, you'll be surprised what you can learn." At this, Major Kuro seems to sober. The chamber hushes to a quiet standstill before Jun continues, "Even in the Earth colonies, people respected Emperor Azulon. They thought he was fair, had good intentions for the most part. But his death – and Ozai's treatment of it – has everyone talking crazy. They think Azulon was poisoned by a rebel sympathizer, he died in an Agni Kai against his son, he's been dead for months and the royal family covered it up." She laughs crisply. "People say the funniest things when they're scared, don't they?"

Zuko works very hard to keep his face still. He doesn't risk looking at the others. He worries that the sound of his pulse is loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself. All this and you can probably see why the Dai Li think the Empire is weak, weak enough to strike again." Jun surveys the faces of everyone gathered, gaze boring into them like a drill. Her voice strikes the air like a hammer. "After all, this base is close to Crown Prince Iroh's heart, and there are rumours about the secret weapon he's been working on here."

Silence, thicker than smoke from a signal fire, freezes everyone in place at her words. For once, even Major Kuro appears lost for words.

"If your intelligence can be trusted," General Shinu says at last. To his credit, his voice, shaken with surprise, is still low and commanding. "How are we to know that your source isn't leading us into a trap?"

"He risked a lot to acquire this information," Jun insists, bristling visibly. Her face screws up momentarily in pain at the sudden movement. "I've worked with him on and off for the last two years, and he's been trustworthy every time. The Dai Li ambushed me when they thought I was getting too close to cracking the link between their knife and Jet's mission. If it wasn't for Lee, I wouldn't have survived."

"I'm not questioning your instincts, Jun," Shinu assures her. "But…you're asking us to put our faith in an alleged spy without even meeting him."

"He wanted to be here," Jun says stiffly. "But it took us a lot longer to get here from Ba Sing Se than either of us expected. We had to split up in order for him to maintain his cover." She gestures to the paper unrolled before her. "He's risking getting caught sending information to the enemy in order to give you a fighting chance."

"That's…admirable, no doubt." Shinu rubs at his temple before letting out a groan of resignation. "But if there's a chance that what you say is true, then we must act. What intelligence does your source have for us?"

It's a measure of how much everyone in the room respects General Shinu that nobody objects to his response.

"Right," Jun says briskly. She taps at the paper in front of her. "So far, I've got information about the Dai Li regiment: a head count, date of departure, details about where they're gathered."

"That's surprisingly thorough," General Shinu comments approvingly, in spite of his reservations. "Where are they assembled?"

"Half a day's march from here is what he said," Jun answers, but her confidence falters. "He drew it all in this map, but…I can't actually understand what it means because I don't know the terrain around here and – uh, well…" Shaking her head, she picks up the sheaf of paper and hands it to General Shinu, an arm gingerly clamping over the bandages lining her ribs. "I'm afraid it's up to you guys to figure this one out, because I'm stumped."

Shinu's eyes widen to large round saucers as he scans the crudely drawn map. "This is…." He struggles, face scrunching in concentration, "a very –  _creative_  illustration?"

"Don't kid yourself," Jun grumbles. "Nobody taught Lee how to fucking draw."

"Well, that makes it a great use to us," Major Kuro snaps in irritation. "Sending us information we can't even read? What are you playing at?"

"Calm down, Major," Shinu says wearily, scratching at his head and tilting his head to study the map more closely. "There is clearly a system to – this source's information. We are some of the best strategic minds in the Empire here, I have no doubt that we will be able to decipher this."

He offers it to Jeong-Jeong, who glares at the drawing as though its existence offends him. "This is the worst map I have ever seen in my life," he says flatly. "I am not sure that any of the landmarks depicted even exist."

"Of course I'm sure," General Shinu insists, crossing his arms across his chest. "And besides, what choice do we have? Now stop complaining and try to think about it for more than a minute."

Jeong-Jeong examines it for a long moment. "It is clear," he grunts, "that the two X's mark our location, and the Dai Li's."

General Shinu claps a hand to his forehead as an unsmiling Jeong-Jeong hands the paper to the unfortunate officer sitting next to him.

Zuko's eyebrows inch lower as the interpretations grow wilder and more desperate.

"Is that a river?"

"It could be a river. But what is this – a nest of serpents, perhaps?"

"A river with a nest of serpents?" Captain Shu queries by the time the map reaches him. He frowns. "I don't recall such a thing nearby –"

"But if this is the spot where their location is marked," Major Kuro insists, tearing the map from Shu's fingers, "then such a landmark must surely exist." He inspects the paper so closely his nose almost grazes its surface. "What about these shapes here? They could be mountains."

"Mountains! I would never have guessed," Captain Shu erupts, rolling his eyes and yanking the map back. "But…the diagram could refer to a temple in the mountains." He lays the map back onto the table and points at the drawing in question. "See, look at these figures – their beards and robes must intend to identify them as Fire Sages."

"There are no Fire Sages anywhere near us!" Major Kuro protests, snatching the map a second time. "Besides, that fails to explain the serpents, have you ever heard of a Fire temple with  _serpents_  in it?"

Captain Shu glowers at Major Kuro, who hands the map to an increasingly curious Zuko without another word.

Zuko straightens it out in his hand and then winces. "I…" he struggles, not even knowing where to begin. He sees a large X at the top of the page, inscribed with the letters  _SFD_ , and another at the bottom, labeled  _DL_. And in between them…chaos.

The others weren't joking about the quality of the map: crude and messy as though its artist had no concept of how to put a brush to paper. Squinting, he sees the twisting scrawl that could be a nest of serpents, a series of conical teeth that could be mountains –  _as if that does any good when the whole Fire Nation is a volcanic archipelago_  – an angled box in a sea of scribbles crammed full of tiny stick figures, their faces, hair, and clothes filled in for detail but only making the end result completely indecipherable.

"It…could be Fire Sages," he suggests lamely. "And if that's supposed to be a river, then maybe the temple's on an island." He points to a circle radiating lines above what Captain Shu had generously called a temple. "And that's the sun. It could be a bearing, or maybe a reference to the time, midday probably…?"

"Well, it is half a day's march," Major Kuro remarks loftily. "Perhaps that is to indicate the distance, if we left our base at sunrise."

"That," Jun says coolly as Zuko absent-mindedly hands the map over to Toph, "is the dumbest explanation I've heard yet."

"What are you guys complaining about?" Toph demands in a breezy voice, tugging the map from Zuko's fingers. "I think this all makes perfect sense to me!"

Everyone snaps their heads at her expectantly, before she waves a hand in front of her eyes and blows at her long black bangs. "Every single time," she scoffs, passing the map over to Katara. Across the table, Jun's expression flits from curiosity to amusement. "Never gets old…"

Katara glares at Toph. "You know, you could be a little more serious," she reproaches, turning to look at the map. "If the Dai Li really are coming to attack–"

Her voice breaks off abruptly, fading into silence. Against his best efforts, Zuko sneaks a proper look at her while her attention is diverted: back ramrod-straight, shoulders rigid with tension, colour receding from her face, mouth agape with something like shock.

_Is she that thrown off by how bad the drawing is?_  Zuko doesn't blame her – just thinking about that map is enough to make his head pound in complaint.

Next to him, Toph's brow furrows. "You okay, Sweetness?" she ventures, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. Her hand reaches out to touch Katara's elbow lightly.

It galvanizes Katara back to reality. Her lips press together tightly, breaths carefully controlled, and when she steals a fleeting glance at Jun, her eyes are calculating. "I'm fine," she answers, voice so flat that Zuko is reminded of the cold creature she'd been the day he first met her. "Just – wasn't prepared for how…awful this drawing is." A shaky smile crosses her face as she squints at the map again.

Even through its borrowed warmth, the waver in her voice grates on Zuko's senses.

"Zuko's right. It's an island," she says at last, gripping it so tightly her knuckles are white. His spirits rise marginally. "But these lines – it's not a river. It's a rift in the earth. A valley." Her voice shakes, sounding almost hurt. "I think this is supposed to be a temple in a pyramid, surrounded by mountains. And those aren't serpents, I'm pretty sure they're dragons."

"Dragons?" General Shinu echoes, his voice sharpening in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"They didn't look like dragons!" Major Kuro complains, even as Katara's head jerks into a stiff nod, her jaw clenched alarmingly tight.

The sight of it doesn't sit quite right with Zuko.  _For someone so shocked by how awful that map is_ , he can't help but think with a small frown,  _she sure is confident when it comes to reading it._

"Well, the river looked like a river and it wasn't," Captain Shu gripes back sourly, "so…"

General Shinu retrieves the map from Katara and examines it again. Jeong-Jeong peers over his shoulder, his previous scowl fading to astonishment.

"The ancient city of the Sun Warriors," General Shinu breathes disbelievingly. "Half a day's march south of here."

A swell of conversations rises to greet the revelation, blurring vaguely against Zuko's tired ears.

"…I suppose the sun makes more sense as an annotation for Sun Warriors…"

"…more than Fire Sages, anyway."

"…not a soul in sight, it's brilliant of them really…"

"Your source," he still manages to hear Katara blurt out suddenly, as though she can't help herself. Zuko turns his head a fraction, curiosity piqued at the bright alertness in her tired eyes. "You said his name was… _Lee_?"

Jun tilts her head to survey Katara under heavily hooded eyes. "Yeah," she answers slowly, a line creasing her forehead where there wasn't one before. "Why?"

Now both of them are staring each other down, Jun outwardly more calm, Katara holding back some flood of internal panic behind that dam in her chest.

"No reason. I was just…curious." Katara lifts her chin defiantly at the doubt crossing Jun's face. "What? The Dai Li are thorough. It's not every day you hear about someone who can just waltz into their lair and pull the wool over their eyes. It…it sounds like there's quite a story there."

Jun's eyes narrow shrewdly as she sizes the younger girl up. Her eyebrows inch slowly upward, though whether out of appraisal or suspicion remains unclear.

"That's all very well," General Shinu speaks up, cutting over the half dozen different conversations efficiently with his booming voice. "But now that we have this information, the important question we must ask is…what next?"

"Prepare defensive measures," Major Kuro replies at once, as though it's obvious. "We have a trained division, we know how to protect our base against enemy attacks. Why is this even a conversation?"

"Because the Dai Li already snuck through your defenses once, in case you've forgotten," Jun reminds him scathingly, slowly running a finger along the sharp edge of the knife's blade without managing a cut. "And that was only one agent with a sleeper. My source reports a force of fifty agents, with at least double that number in sleepers. They're going to demolish you."

General Shinu strokes his jaw, mulling over Jun's words. "We are a small division, remote and pinned against the river," he admits, face falling. "We have no fortifications that can stand against such a powerful contingent of earthbenders. Even with our best defensive tactics, they would still outnumber us two to one."

"But we do have the river," Captain Shu suggests falteringly. He points at a larger map covering the table, where a small black marker indicates their location. "We could evacuate – fall back to Colonel How's base and triple our numbers."

"Colonel How's base is on the other side of the sea, nearly five days by ship," Major Kuro objects, frowning. "And it brings us within range of the Yangchen mountain pass. I would not gladly risk involving the Air Nomads unless I had no choice."

"Well, our supply of options is running low," Captain Shu retorts, tracing the line of the river with his pointer finger. "Besides, the Air Nomads are honour bound to come to our assistance. And an assault by the Dai Li within spitting distance of their borders is an affront to their sovereignty too –"

Major Kuro scoffs. "Do you honestly think the Air Nomads give a damn about what goes on below their mountains? They know as well as we do that the Dai Li would never dare to attack them. Face it, Captain, we can't rely on them for help."

"I don't know," Aang speaks up, the first thing he's said all day. His face is pale but his grey eyes are fixed thoughtfully upon the map. "Master Iio is fair and reasonable. I'm sure she and the rest of the Western Air Temple would help. After all, they're only a day's flight from here." His mouth twists. "I don't know about the Southern temple. Maybe if you contacted Gyatso, he could find a way to help too…"

Jeong-Jeong lets out a sigh, shaking his head. "I have been in contact with Master Gyatso for quite some time now," he states mournfully. "He regrets to inform me that we will have to stop relying on the Southern Air Temple for help."

Aang's eyes widen before he looks away in disappointment.

"However, Master Iio is an old friend of mine and worth asking," Jeong-Jeong continues solemnly. "That is a most prudent suggestion. Thank you."

Aang nods his head in acknowledgment, fading back to thoughtful silence.

"What about your secret weapon?" Jun demands bluntly, frowning. "There're so many rumours about it, surely it'd be better than packing up and running away?"

_Secret weapon?_  Zuko is puzzled. In all his time here, he's never heard of any such thing. Looking down the table, he sees similarly baffled expressions crossing everyone else's face. But across from him, General Shinu casts a sidelong glance at Jeong-Jeong, who tucks his hands into his sleeves.

"The Avatar project is not a secret weapon," Jeong-Jeong pronounces firmly, stunning Zuko beyond words.  _That's it?_ We're _the secret weapon that everyone's been talking about?_  The hope budding within him withers abruptly.  _What a letdown._  "It is an experiment in bending theory that has produced…some interesting results, to be sure – but it was never intended for use in combat –"

"Maybe it's time to change that," General Shinu suggests, as though it's an order. His tawny eyes settle upon Zuko and sweep across the other three benders seated next to him. "After all, this world is not an old man's board game. Action is the only recourse we have left."

His statement settles dubiously into stifling air.

"Are you saying," Zuko asks carefully, not quite believing his ears, "you want to send the four of us into battle against an army of Dai Li?"

"We can't do that!" Aang protests, aghast. "That's a suicide mission!"

"With all due respect, General," Jeong-Jeong says with a frown, "please think this through. For all that they are talented benders, they are not ready for a defense of this magnitude."

"I'm not saying that they should face the Dai Li alone," General Shinu corrects quietly, hand on his chin as he stares shrewdly at the map. "I'm saying that there's another option available to us besides running away or standing our ground."

As though to emphasize his point, he places a green marker onto the map, indicating the location of the Sun Warrior's ancient city. It looms, innocuously threatening.

"The Dai Li plan to launch their assault at sunrise two days hence," Shinu muses, his finger traversing the short distance between the green and black markers. "At this moment, they are gathering their strength, organizing their forces, and preparing for battle. Assuming that they intend to march all through the night, this gives us a window of opportunity to intercept them before they are fully mustered."

Zuko's jaw drops, the realization clicking into place as Shinu slides the black marker to flank the green one. "You want us to take the fight to them," he states in disbelief.

All hell breaks loose around the table at his words.

"Are you out of your mind, General?" Major Kuro spits, face mottling to a dark purple. "Seventy of us, taking on over double our number?"

"On unfamiliar ground," Captain Shu agrees. "Against earthbenders, no less. We all know how difficult it is to strategize a defeat against them."

"But not impossible," General Shinu insists, eyes glittering. "After all, what is the point of our division if not to carry out operations such as this? Our numbers are fewer, yes, but we can mobilize more quickly and efficiently. We'll strategize a counterassault on ground where the Dai Li will be unprepared. Their sleepers are mere civilians – no match for our fighters, even if most are somewhat unseasoned in battle." He smiles a confident, ruthless smile that chills Zuko's blood. "If we can't change our numbers, let's dismantle some of their advantages."

"I think we should do it," Katara agrees, surprising just about everyone. Zuko wonders if she's still a little drunk from the night before, but the grim slash of her mouth suggests that she's perfectly serious. "It won't be easy, but we can level the playing field by the time we catch up with them."

"I can feed you more intel as it arrives," Jun offers. "And Lee can meet us when we get there and walk us through their defenses."

Zuko doesn't miss the way Katara's face brightens before she quickly plants her fist against her mouth, quelling the hope blooming on her face.  _Well, it's nice to know someone's optimistic_ , he thinks sarcastically, even as something inside him wilts.

"It will be a gruelling pace," Captain Shu points out dubiously. "To have our entire division armed and ready to march by dawn tomorrow. And how will we even approach the enemy without being seen in broad daylight?"

"We have earthbenders in our division too," Zuko can't help but point out, glancing at Toph out of the corner of his eye. Katara's unexpected optimism must be more infectious than he anticipated because in spite of his earlier reservations, he finds Shinu's bold idea growing on him more and more. "That could add an element of subterfuge to our advance."

General Shinu and Jeong-Jeong both nod in agreement, and it sends his heart ballooning in his chest with an elation he hasn't felt in a very long time.

"And if we enlist the help of nearby allies," Jeong-Jeong says thoughtfully, "we can have them converge upon the Sun Warriors' city to bolster our ranks."

"They might not reach us in time," Major Kuro warns.

"That is true," Jeong-Jeong allows, stroking his chin. "But even a delayed response would be more helpful than none. If I send out the order now, it is possible that some will even manage to answer our call."

"What about my uncle?" Zuko asks bluntly. Everyone glances at him curiously but he pays it no heed. "Surely he should be made aware of the situation."

And maybe he could even fix it. After all, if there's anyone who could back out of a tight corner like this, Zuko would put his money on Uncle Iroh.

"General Iroh is too far away to help us," Jeong-Jeong shakes his head somberly. Dismay breaks over Zuko like a sharp slap to the face. "I will send a message to the capital, but it may not reach him in time. And with the coronation looming so soon, he may have to relinquish many of his military duties altogether."

Zuko remembers a discussion with his uncle along similar lines, long weeks ago. How quickly everything had changed. How quickly everything would continue to change. He hangs his head, quailing at the thought of it.

The mood across the table turns mournful. Major Kuro rubs at his forehead grimly. "That will be a great loss indeed," he states, the pompousness in his voice giving way slightly. "No one can replace that man."

"That may be true," Jeong-Jeong parries, voice heavy. "Still, we must learn to adapt. We cannot rely on Iroh forever." His words hang uncomfortably in the air, a sliver of unwanted truth.

Shifting in his seat, Major Kuro changes the subject. "It's a shame Kyoshi Island is so far away. Their warriors would greatly level the playing field."

"We have one," Captain Shu points out with an uncertain shrug. "We'll have to make do."

"We must look to our own," Jeong-Jeong sighs. "Colonel How is too far away, he would never get here in time…"

"What about Captain Mak?" Zuko suggests, glancing at the giant map intently. "My cousin, Prince Lu Ten – he serves with him, and if these positions are up to date, then it looks like they're only a day away by sea."

Jeong-Jeong raises his eyebrows shrewdly. "You are right, Your Highness," he agrees. "If we get a message to them in time, they'll certainly reach us faster than approaching on foot." He frowns, ticking a list off on his fingers. "Besides that – we can contact Lord Mao, Master Iio, and perhaps some other old friends…"

"It is vital to exercise every advantage," General Shinu presses, crossing his arms. "We're going to have to be clever about how we allocate our resources, right down to our last eelhound. The Dai Li are ruthlessly precise, and it will be difficult to think of a weakness we can exploit."

"Well, speaking from experience," Jun quips, "I can tell you that the element of surprise is a big one. The Dai Li are a well-oiled machine, but they gain their strength from top-down command. Discipline. Order. Create enough chaos, and you disrupt the machine. They'll be slow to improvise a response." She laughs darkly, until she accidentally jostles her bandaged side against the table and it dies in her throat. "Not  _too_  slow, unfortunately…they're still powerful bastards."

"But they can escape just as easily," Zuko speaks up, recalling Jet's dead body and his own perplexity at how easily the Dai Li agent had slipped out of the base. "We'll need a way to keep them engaged."

General Shinu eyes him thoughtfully. "Good point, Prince Zuko. Well," he muses, "it's a good thing we have something the Dai Li want…"

* * *

The tactical deliberations go on for hours. It is well into the afternoon by the time General Shinu raises his head and smiles in satisfaction.

"If this isn't the cleverest plan I've ever seen, it's certainly the boldest," he announces, nodding at the scribe annotating their strategy onto fresh paper. "See that copies are made for everyone assembled at this table." He gets to his feet and surveys the room steadily. "I will brief the division about what is to come. You all know your parts in this. You know what's at stake. Do not fail me."

"Yes, General," everyone echoes in unison.

Shinu raises a hand for silence. His gaze sweeps over to Zuko, and then the three benders beside him. "This strategy hinges upon the four of you," he states. "I cannot stress enough how much we are all depending on you to anchor the first wave. If any of you feel like you are not up to the task, this is your last chance to speak."

Zuko's jaw tightens as he observes his companions. Aang looks a little green, his face taut with nerves. Toph looks calmly confident – excited, almost, judging from the easy slope of her shoulders. Katara's gaze is fixed upon that stupid map with its awful drawings, and her hands curl into fists.

"I'm sick of waiting," she declares, her chin tilting up defiantly. She glances at each of them, and Zuko almost quails at the fire blazing in her eyes. "I want to fight."

Toph smashes one fist into the palm of her other hand. "I'm with Sugar Queen," she announces, grinning wolfishly. "They got past me last time. I gotta remind those dunderheads that they're tussling with the greatest earthbender in the world!" She tosses a smug look in Aang's direction, and then at Zuko. "What about you ladies?"

"The Dai Li tried to kill me once already," Zuko breathes. The severity of the situation weighs down on him, dragging him beneath the constant firestorm of his instincts, somewhere deep where stillness reigns, precise and calm as lightning. His voice hardens into a prince's command. "I intend to make them answer for that."

The quiet resolve flashing through him almost makes him feel immune to the way Katara's mouth quirks up at the corners, so subtly it might be a figment of his overactive imagination. "Alright Sparky!" Toph crows, turning back to face Aang expectantly. "What do you think, Twinkletoes?"

Aang's eyes dart nervously around the room, before landing resolutely back at the pattern of black markers decorating the table. Even in the slanting golden rays of the afternoon sun, he looks pale. "I don't like violence," he admits falteringly as Toph groans and claps a hand to her forehead. "I wish we didn't have to fight them."

"Wishing for peace will not bring it into existence, Sifu Aang," Jeong-Jeong admonishes. But the look he sends the Air Nomad is strangely sympathetic.

"I know, I know," Aang groans, the blue arrow on his forehead crumpling in his frustration. "I've heard it a thousand times. Be decisive, stand your ground, sacrifice your beliefs to protect the world." He shrugs helplessly, his mouth an unsure line. "I'll do what you need me to do. It doesn't mean I have to like it."

Jeong-Jeong inclines his head respectfully. But General Shinu and the other officers look less impressed. " _Air Nomads_ ," someone mutters under their breath, a snatch of sound drifting indistinguishably in the air.

"Thank you," the General says curtly. He clasps his hands behind his back. "You're all dismissed. Prepare yourselves, get your armour and whatever supplies you need packed and ready. Rest, if you can." A new energy buzzes about him, the anticipation of battle erasing years from the lines of his face. "Tomorrow, we march."

* * *

The four of them wind up outside the armoury shortly after dinner, none of them having much of an appetite that evening.

Zuko has his red-and-black cuirass and collar sent for an adjustment. In the months since he'd been last fitted, his chest and shoulders have broadened enough to make the fit uncomfortably tight and restrictive.

Aang and Toph have never had their armour fitted, while Katara, being the most recent addition to the division, was never issued armour in the first place.

The blacksmith, drilling his apprentices over the glowing forge, grumbles about all the extra work. ("… _less than a day to get the entire division fitted and armed, sheer madness, I'm a blacksmith not a magician_ -")

"You'd think we'd be a little more prepared than this," Toph quips, tapping impatient fingers against the side of her thigh.

"We've only ever fought  _against_  each other," Aang laments, rolling up and down on the balls of his feet nervously. "Now we have to fight like a team – against a bunch of Tophs too."

"Don't insult me, Twinkletoes. There can only be one of me."

"I'm sure you'll teach them that tomorrow," Katara assures her absently. "Anyway, if we can't figure it out by now, what's the point? We all work well together, it should be enough." Her gaze flits over to Zuko, where he broods a little apart from them. "Right Zuko?"

He stirs at the sound of his name and intercepts her expectant gaze sharply. "Yeah," he grunts. His heart aches as he takes in his surroundings: the same sweeping lawn as yesterday, the same starlit sky. But there are no bonfires tonight. No clay cups cracking against the ground.

One of the apprentices lugs two burlap sacks out the front door, hands them to Toph and Aang before ferreting back inside.

"You go on ahead," he hears Katara say to the others. "Go rest up. Mine's probably going to take a while."

"If you insist," Toph retorts with a sniff and a stifled yawn. "I'm exhausted. Come on, Twinkletoes, let's go." She raises her voice. "Night, Sparky. See you tomorrow when we kick some Dai Li butt."

"Yeah, goodnight Zuko," Aang echoes, waving a hand at him and throwing him a wan smile. "And good luck." He still looks unhappy.

Zuko nods back at them. "You too," he says, watching them retreat, their figures illuminated by the orange and gold glow of the blacksmith's forge.

And then the moment he's been trying to avoid all day: him and Katara alone in the dark. Again.

"That was some council, huh?"

Zuko snaps out of his ruminations. Katara glances at him out the corner of her eyes; the distance between them yawns out like miles. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she looked anxious. "It was," he agrees solemnly. He watches her warily, half-wishing she'd bolt like some small woodland creature. "It appears you were right about the Dai Li after all."

She touches her fingers to her neck. "It was a lucky guess," she dismisses, trying to keep her voice light. "I had no way of knowing for sure…"

Zuko doesn't know what to say to that. He focuses on her fingers resting at the crook of her neck, and suddenly the only thing he can really think of is the taste of her skin there. He scowls and looks away abruptly, annoyed at the heat that flusters through his veins.

She falls silent after that, perhaps misinterpreting his scowl as being meant for her. The only sound is the pounding of hammers against red-hot metal. In the sky, the moon is the slightest sliver of white light, splintering through the darkness like awkwardness in a hopeless conversation.

Another apprentice comes out, hands Katara a sack with her armour inside, and flits back into the armoury. He expects her to bid him goodnight and make a hasty exit.

Instead, her sigh splits the air. "Can you –" her voice cracks on a lump in her throat before she tries again, stronger, "can you give me a hand?" She dunks her head to focus on her feet at his questioning stare. "I – I don't really know how this all fits together."

She holds up the sack in her hands, as though it's a peace offering.

It hits him that maybe the reason she sent Toph and Aang away so soon was because she wanted to catch him alone. And then he immediately buries the thought because it's absolutely absurd, if he's learned anything from the night before.

_It doesn't mean anything. She doesn't want anything to change. Get a grip._

He shifts his attention to the pieces of armour tumbling out of the sack and onto the ground by her feet. Coaches her through the placement of the sleeveless leather robe, greaves and vambraces at shins and wrists, but falters when she slides the cuirass over her shoulders.

Her hands drop from the fastenings scoring the length of her back, gaping open where she can't reach. Giving up, she tries to belt on her tassets, but everything sits awkwardly. Her small sound of resignation reminds him of a snare trapping him to the spot. "Do me up?" Her gaze flits everywhere from her feet, her belt buckle, the sliver of moon in the sky…anywhere but upon him.

Now the air itself feels heavy on his back. "Fine." He hopes his voice sounds braver than he feels; the overwhelming sense of  _this is a bad idea_  knotting his nerves and stilting his steps.

He settles in behind her and suddenly, maintaining an appropriate distance becomes a colossal effort. It had been hard before but discipline and habitual hopelessness made it bearable. Now he has to fight the tautness gripping his body – drawn like a bowstring, unable to spring.

She pulls her hair over her shoulder, granting him easier access to the laces lining the back of her armour. Feeling like the earth might split beneath his feet, he breathes deeply to concentrate his focus, momentarily dizzied by the smell of her freshly washed hair.

His fingers are clumsy as they find the first set of fastenings at the small of her back, corners mismatched and tied haphazardly. Picking at the knot, he tries not to focus on the way his fingers accidentally brush against her every now and then, or how she seems to be just as tense as he is.  _Why would she even ask me to do this?_  To him this is part torture, part madness.

The silence that envelops them is anything but comfortable as he works on her fastenings. Her brittle voice breaks through it. "I thought it would feel heavier," she manages, fingertips tracing the hard leather lining her forearms.

He's quiet for a moment before he decides to take the bait. "It catches up with you," he replies, fingernails digging into a particularly stubborn knot halfway up her back. The cuirass begins to take on the shape of her body, snug against the indent of her waist. He remembers trailing his hand against the curve of it, how she'd arched into his touch like in his most vivid dreams… "You should try to pace yourself tomorrow."

_Yes. Resist. Divert. Think of the Dai Li coming to kill you, not…this._  But somehow, the Dai Li seem less terrifying, less urgent. Fighting a groan, he moves up to the next knot, perfectly conscious of the way she squirms every time he starts on a new fastening.

_If she's so uncomfortable, why is she still here?_ It makes no sense. A day earlier, he wouldn't have complained at the chance to be so close to her. Now it feels confusing, dangerous almost.

"We should have practiced in armour," Katara laments, still fiddling with her vambraces. "That was a stupid thing to forget."

Tie, knot, move up to the next fastening. His fingers fall into a rhythm as though they've memorized the curve of her back. As though somewhere in the back of his mind, in spite of his best efforts, he's been meditating on the shape of it all day. "Yeah," he agrees, stomach churning. "But Jeong-Jeong said we were never intended for use in combat."

She scoffs at that, a derisive sound with no real heat to it. "We're still soldiers. That was short-sighted of them."

Her appetite for battle strikes him as uncharacteristic. "You seem awfully eager to fight tomorrow," he remarks, inwardly cursing as he nearly tangles his own fingers into her laces.  _And yet, this is the same Katara who almost killed Chan_. Just because she's been warm and friendly ever since doesn't change how dangerous she can be. He's a fool for forgetting that.

Her posture stiffens, and he isn't sure if it's because of him this time. "I just don't like the Dai Li," she states, her entire demeanour shifting to something hard and cold.

"Are you sure that's all?" The words slip out of him carelessly.

"Yeah." She breathes the word in finality and yet…  _I don't have to be Toph to know that she's lying_.

"You just…seem a little different, today," he tries, feeling like he's treading on very thin ice.

"I'm fine," she insists stubbornly, fingers interlocking with each other in frustration. "Just…tired. I didn't get a lot of sleep."

He doesn't have the wherewithal to persist. "How long were you up for?" he asks instead, steering the conversation to safer waters.

"Late," she supplies. "It took ages to heal Jun." She breathes slowly as his fingers drift up to the last knot holding her cuirass together at the collar, just below where her spine meets the base of her neck. "What about you? Did…did you sleep okay?"

His fingers freeze at that simple question, suggestive in all the wrong places. There are flames somewhere beneath her skin now, licking at his knuckles, threatening to burn them if he isn't careful. "Not really."

He doesn't expand on why. He lets that sit in the air between them too.

"Oh. Yeah…about that," She draws in a ragged breath, stuttering now. "Are – are you sure we're okay?"

Her head turns to glance at him nervously over her shoulder. Surprised that she would even bring it up again, but secretly somewhat pleased nonetheless, he wishes for the darkness to swallow them, so that he wouldn't have to see the conflict warring over the profile of her face. It takes an inhuman level of effort to keep his voice steady. "Yeah. Why?"

"I – I can't help but feel like we're not," she continues hastily, and there's that same flush spreading over her cheeks from the night before, that fills him with heat and trepidation all at the same time, "That things are different now."

"They're not," he rasps, trying to tear his gaze away from hers but transfixed and utterly unable to.  _This is all my fault. I should have just left you alone._

"I know they're not, but –" Her face softens into the most petrifying thing he's seen all day, the way it fills him with all the hope he's trying to let go of – "I guess I'm just scared."

_Scared_. He hates the word with an intensity that unnerves him. "Scared of what?"  _Of me?_

"I don't know," she confesses. Her lips press together as she wets them. "Everything's changing so quickly! We've got this really risky battle ahead of us tomorrow and I could –" She twists to face him, her shoulder pressing into his sternum without a care for the way his heartbeat accelerates beneath it. "I just – I need you to –"

"What?" he questions, more roughly than he intends. Her hands ball into fists and she's licked her lips half a dozen times by now. They capture all of his attention, wet and shiny and parted slightly in the feeble moonlight, moving closer to his face – too close – until they're all he can see.

It strikes him that she hasn't iced him to a tree yet. Dizzying, racing through him like adrenaline lanced with liquid fire: maybe she changed her mind, maybe she wants him after all?  _It's not too late, tell her the truth, just spit it out_  – maybe that's all she needs, that's why her breathing has suddenly become too loud and she's shaking almost as hard as he is.

But instead she offers him a wobbly smile. "I just need things to make sense," she whispers, as though that explains anything.

Reality crashes with the fresh sting of saltwater against a wound. He's the first to look away, hands resuming their motions as though of their own accord. His words lodge themselves in the back of his throat, damming against shaking breaths that can't escape him.

Mechanically, he ties off her laces. The cuirass fits her perfectly, smoke-coloured plates moulding to her body like an embrace. Warmth still shimmers off her skin, daring his fingertips to graze the outcrop of her bones, his lips along the shell of her ear and the hollow spaces where her pulse hums.

"Get some sleep, Katara," he says instead, his voice clipped. "You'll need your strength tomorrow."

He turns away from her and the maddening smell of smoke and waterlilies and the disappointment he imagines flashing in her eyes.

"Yeah," she stutters, retreating from him carefully. She picks up her sack of armour with one hand and when she smiles tightly, it lacks the open warmth of before. "You too."

She leaves before he has a chance to regret it.  _It's probably better this way_. Being around her only filled his mind with stupid notions anyway.

* * *

Toph is already snoring by the time Katara returns to her room, utterly dazed, wrapped in a whirlwind of thoughts.

At the forefront of them should be any of the important things facing her tomorrow – a gruelling march to the Sun Warriors city? A life-threatening fight with the Dai Li? Meeting Jun's source, the so-called "Lee" whose handwriting and limited drawing ability reminded her so much of her brother, it couldn't possibly be a coincidence?

Instead, she's stuck on Zuko and how solid his body felt. It infuriates her. Contorting to yank all her fastenings loose, she ignores how the line of her back seems to prickle from his touch. Never mind that by now the fireball is all gone from her veins and yet her body still burns near him. Never mind that there's far too much cold in him to suit a son of fire, never mind how that dismays her.

_None of that matters,_  she thinks vehemently.  _You have more important things to think about._ Gritting her teeth, she pulls off all her armour and discards it unceremoniously in a heap on the floor.  _He's out there. It's got to be him._

Marching over to her chest by the window, she flips the lid open and sifts through it. Her bone flute, the frayed old robe she hasn't worn since Conquest Day – she puts it all aside until she finds the worn sealskin sachet at the very bottom.

She undoes its laces, reaches inside. Her mother's necklace, her grandmother's comb, Master Pakku's tile… they all greet her fingers, old memories no longer too painful to weather in this strange new life she's carved for herself.

But her hand closes firmly around Sokka's old boomerang.  _Soon_ , she vows silently, tucking it into the strap of her waterskin _, I'll see you soon, wait for me._  Her jaw sets with determination and adrenaline of a different sort flushes hot fire through her veins.

In spite of how tired she is, sleep doesn't come easily to her. And when it does, her dreams are uneasy as well.

* * *

She dreams of Sokka, the last time she saw him. Sokka tumbling off the rafters, landing heavily in the snow. Yelling as flames rise up around his body, pinning him off from the fences and the freedom beyond. Her wrists twisting clumsily, trying to douse some of it and give him a chance –

_Go!_  She screams at him, her feet pounding heavily,  _I'm right behind you, run!_

The panic not quite gone from his face as he scrambles back onto his feet, leaps, and scales the fence like his life depended on it.  _Faster_ , she urges him, closing the gap between them – but she was always the slower one between the two of them.

Hands, searing hot and full of fire catch her by the waist – one pair, two pairs, far too many holding her down.  _Tell us where your brother went and maybe you won't die screaming like he will, you little waterbending bitch_  –

A whir and a thunk and the weight of an unconscious guard crumpling on top of her. Fire, smouldering through her clothes, screaming agony on her skin.

Everything goes black and then white, but by the time she wakes Sokka is already long gone. Hot tears in her eyes freezing in the icy air, the boomerang glimmering by her knees somehow more real than the burns lining her torso and back.

* * *

She dreams of home and happiness and her mother's smile.

_Your father thinks he's doing the right thing_ , Kya says softly, her voice almost sad as she runs a bone comb through Katara's hair.  _One day you'll be old enough to understand._

But Katara is young and understands little.  _Mom?_

Her mother sighs, deftly braiding her hair.  _Agni's children are proud and powerful. They hold fast, love quickly, and burn bright as their namesakes, consuming all in their paths wherever they go._  She ties the ends off with blue ribbon.  _Soon, you'll be among them. They might try to possess you for their own, or convince you that you'll never deserve them._

_This is a weird story, Mom_ , Katara protests, making a face as her mother's gentle hands find her shoulders and turn her around.  _I don't like it._

_And when that day comes, I want you to remember one thing._ Kya's smile is bitter. Her fingers stroke the side of Katara's face, soothing and sure, before tilting her chin up to look her in the eyes.

Something inexplicably large grows in the back of Katara's throat as her mother kisses her forehead.

_Remember, Katara, you are the ocean made flesh._  Kya's voice is a whisper now, echoing all around her _, and all fires bow to the sea._


End file.
